


Primrose

by intodusk



Category: Ranma 1/2
Genre: Dysphoria, F/F, Gen, Homophobia, Misgendering, Nonbinary Character, Slow Burn, Trans Female Character, Trans Girl Ranma, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-01-21 21:58:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 42,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12466792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intodusk/pseuds/intodusk
Summary: As the coldest winter Tokyo's seen in years approaches its nadir, Ranma receives a one-word message more unsettling than any detailed death threat. The ensuing storm pulls friends and enemies alike into the turmoil, forcing them to confront complicated truths, contenders both new and old, and the perturbing, nagging notion that a curse may be more than the magic it's made from.





	1. A Chill in the Air

**Author's Note:**

> A quick note- when this story begins, almost everything in the manga up through Book 36 (i.e. before Jusendo/the wedding) has happened EXCEPT Ranma has never met Nodoka or even heard anything about her. Events she was originally a part of have circumvented her absence in this timeline.
> 
> Enjoy!

Winter in Nerima was a lenient thing, cold enough to bring a flush to the cheeks and a quiver to exposed fingers but, in all, unobtrusive to daily life. An average December day would look much the same as any other, save for a couple added layers of clothes: teenagers sporting the latest winter fashions, lovers locking gloved hands, mothers swaddling snugly bundled babies. Only rarely did any morning frost last through the sunrise, and when it did, the sight was more a novelty than anything else, something for students to chat idly about before class started. The last recesses would be puddles by then.

So that evening, when the wind began to bite like a starved hound and a film of ice hardened atop the canals, the ward became something it rarely was: still. The streets lay empty. The warblers kept their silence. Stray cats too cold to hunt huddled outside the houses with central heating. Even the trees seemed to slow their steady crawl towards the dusk-darkened clouds, if one watched long enough to tell.

Ranma found the quiet unsettling, and thought he’d been tense enough already without all this, thanks. He jostled around on the hard, sloped roof tiles, trying in vain to find a comfortable way to sit before giving up and sulking through his discontent. He folded his arms over his knees and sighed a small puff of wispy breath. The houses and lanes that surrounded the Tendou residence stretched farther than his unfocused gaze was registering. A meditative exercise involving the expansion and contraction of ki whittled the time away.

He felt Akane’s presence before he heard the ladder hit the edge of the roof on the other side, before her footsteps clacked along the tiles behind him. She stopped just on the edge of his peripheral, hands on her hips, pale yellow scarf flitting in the breeze. He kept his eyes forward.

“There you are, Ranma!” she said, voice colored with mild annoyance. “I've been looking all over for you. How long have you been sitting out here?”

He shrugged. “Dunno. What's it to ya, tomboy?”

The scowl forming on her face was interrupted when the breeze picked up, and she rubbed at her forearms through the sleeves of her sweater. “Jeez, it's freezing, aren't you cold?”

He suppressed a shiver. “Nah.”

She gave a dry chuckle. “Oh, sure. It'll take more than a little chill in the air to phase Saotome Ranma, Man Amongst Men, huh?”

“Look,” he said, glaring sideways at her, “did ya come here to tell me somethin’ or did ya just wanna bug me?”

Ignoring his question, she sat down next to him. “What are you doing out here anyways?”

He looked back over the rooftops and considered his response. “...Watchin’.”

“Watching?”

“Yeah. Been way too quiet lately. Haven't had anything stupid happen to me in more’n a week, so I figure the powers that be are gonna hit me with somethin’ even dumber than usual soon. Figured I might see it before it hits me, for once.”

She pursed her lips in thought. “Now that you mention it, things have been oddly calm. Ukyou's been extra busy managing Ucchan’s, the idiot siblings stopped bothering you when finals started, and the Amazons have been in China for- what did Cologne call it? ‘Council business’?”

He nodded. “Somethin’ like that. Even Ryouga’s been leavin’ me alone. Now whenever I see the guy, he just wants me to lead him to Akari’s place so he don't end up in Peru or whatever. I ran into him yesterday, an’ he didn't even call me an honorless bastard or nothin’.” He sighed. “I kinda wanted to start a fight with him right there, just to get this waitin’ over with.”

She arched a brow at him. “You know you're setting yourself up for disappointment, right?”

He met her gaze. “Whaddaya mean?”

“Look, winter break just started, and for once we've got some time off from the usual chaos. If you spend all of it worrying about when the next attack is going to come, you’re only going to end up wasting it. You should be enjoying it!” She gestured vaguely outward. “Having a good time! Going out and doing… whatever it is you do for fun!” She paused, her brow furrowing. “You know, I've lived with you for almost two years and I don't think I’ve seen you do anything with your free time but train. What _do_ you do for fun?”

“Train more, duh. And, uh, eat ice cream, I guess. And…” His voice trailed off. “Well really, how much more does a guy need?”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course. Alright, then how about your friends? You could try spending break with-” Again, she paused. “Hmm. Come to think of it, who do we know that isn't trying to kill you or get you to marry them?”

The list was short. He almost brought up Hiroshi and Daisuke, but he wasn't sure if they were his friends or if they just saw him and his life as an endless stream of entertainment best experienced with front-row seats, and he figured that doubt was evidence enough to disqualify them. “Hey, I got friends. There's you, there's... I mean, Ryouga an’ me are on pretty alright terms now, so I think he counts. Oh, and Ucchan, ‘course.”

She smacked a fist into an open palm. “Oh! This is perfect. We can go eat at Ucchan’s tonight, and then we'll all hang out together after!”

The suggestion certainly sounded appealing. He'd not gotten to see his oldest friend outside of school in two weeks, and his longing for both her company and her cooking bordered on desperation. Monday nights tended to be rather slow, so even with the recent spike in business Ucchan’s probably wouldn't be too crowded. However, the preemptive sense of guilt festering in his empty gut made him think twice. “Wait, what about Kasumi? I don't wanna just ditch her dinner for someone else's.”

Her eyebrows raised in mock surprise. “Wow, Ranma, if I didn't know any better I'd say you'd finally found it in you to care about someone other than yourself.” Ignoring his grumbling, she continued. “Anyways, that's what I came up here to tell you. Kasumi agreed to help out Dr. Toufuu at the clinic tonight, so she doesn't have time to cook. There were leftovers, but your dad got to them first, so we're on our own tonight.”

“‘Course he did. Alright, yeah, Ucchan’s it is.” Ranma rose to his feet and arched his back to let some tension out, realizing he must've been sitting there longer than he'd thought. His head lolled back as he stretched, which allowed him to catch a glimpse of the snowflake drifting through the air above him before it melted on his cheek. He stilled, then straightened out, touching a finger to where it landed to make sure he hadn't just been seeing things. Soon, more and more specks of white were falling lazily around him, and he found his thoughts drowned out by surprise and just a pinch of wonder.

Akane stood up as well, eyes wide with unbridled excitement. “Oh… Oh, wow…” She spun around slowly to take it all in, careful not to misstep on the slanted surface. “It's so pretty! I haven't seen snow since I was a little girl!” Sticking out her tongue, she tried to catch a flake as it passed. The first few escaped her, but eventually she managed to follow one in its path on the wind. She turned around to show Ranma, only to find he'd become shorter and damper in the absence of her attention, his untamed fringe now cherry-red and clinging lightly to his forehead. A smattering of half-melted flakes speckled the top of his head, and a few more almost seemed to go out of their way to join them.

She snickered. “I guess even when it's frozen, water still seeks you out.”

Her words spurred him to refocus, and he turned to ask her what she meant. It took him a moment to realize that Akane hadn't actually gotten any taller. He huffed a sigh and shook the wet out of his hair. “I'll meet you downstairs.”

“Do you want to change back first?”

Ranma considered for a moment, then gave a dismissive wave. “Nah, we're gonna have to walk there, an’ it'll just find me again anyways if I do. Like you said.” Hands in his pockets, he jumped down to the ground two stories below.

The weather proved him right as snow slowly blanketed the ward, enough to form a consistent, if thin, layer of white on the rooftops and pavement. Within minutes his feet were soaked through his thin shoes and each sloshy step sent a shiver of discomfort up his spine. Akane on the other hand seemed to be doing just fine in her chunky yellow rain boots. She even had an actual bounce in her step, making the hem of her heavy navy coat ripple a little as she walked, like the wake behind a skipper. He didn't quite share her excitement; he'd seen quite a bit of snow over the twelve years spent traveling and training and the phenomenon had long since lost its novelty, especially after his father forced him to train in the terrifying “art” of outrunning avalanches. He'd been surprised to see it in Tokyo, but once the realities of wet feet and plummeting body heat had reasserted themselves, the luster was lost once more.

The soft, pale light leaking under the Ucchan’s noren beckoned the way a campfire in the wilderness would, heralding sweet relief from the cold and crackling with lively chatter. The pair ducked under the curtain and Ranma sighed a contented “Ahh!” as warmth enveloped them. A wave of indistinctly savory smells followed suit, carrying tantalizing hints of just about any foodstuff one could ever think to top okonomiyaki with and then some. The restaurant was busy tonight; tables and chairs typically only brought out on weekends lined the left wall opposite the counter and grill, all but a few seats and stools filled by students and young couples, as well as a few small families. A cheery waitress in a white kimono dotted with blooming crimson flowers was serving tea to a table on the far end. Ranma made to call out to her before he was interrupted by a voice to his right.

“Oh, hi Ranma, hi Akane!” Another waitress, identical to the first down to the red bow tying up her long black ponytail, turned from the section of the counter she'd been cleaning and bowed. “Ukyou-sama will be super happy to see you! Let me get you some extra stools.” Before Ranma could say, “Hey, Konatsu,” she'd hopped deftly over the counter (no small feat in her restrictive outfit) and disappeared behind the service curtain.

As he and Akane made their way to the grill, the restaurant’s eponymous chef waved them over with one hand, the other occupied flipping okonomiyaki. “Well hey, you two! What can I get y’all? Hold on, lemme guess: scallops for Akane and a few Ran-chan specials for the one and only?”

Akane nodded hungrily, but Ranma raised a finger. “Actually, can I get those with cod? Been cravin’ fish all day.”

“Sure thing, sug.” Without taking her spatula hand off flipping duty, Ukyou poured four more puddles of batter onto the grill to sizzle and gathered up ingredients. “You want some hot water?”

“Nah, my clothes are still kinda soaked, gotta wait ‘til they're dry.”

“Alright. Kettle’s on the stove already so just let me know.” Without looking up from the grill, Ukyou pursed her lips in thought and said, “Come to think of it, what _does_ happen when you touch cold and hot water at the same time?”

Akane’s brows crawled upward. “Actually, I've always kind of wondered that myself.”

Grimacing at the thought, Ranma shook his head. “I get the same weird tingly feelin’ as when I usually transform, ‘cept it just sorta keeps happenin’ for a while. Gets hard to think straight. Usually just leaves me in this form when the hot water cools down though.”

While Ukyou was frowning, likely trying to imagine the sensation herself, Akane said, “You know, if you wore something besides those old Chinese silks and slip-on shoes you probably wouldn't transform nearly as often.” She shook one rainboot-clad foot, “I'm totally dry under these.”

“Hey, I like my silks,” he protested. “An’ besides, I can't. These are the only kinda shoe that fits both my forms’ feet, an’ even these are a little tight on my guy form. Can't wear pants without adjustable waists neither.”

Akane looked thoughtful for a moment. “That's probably why your dad wears that gi of his all the time, right?”

A hint of anger slipped into Ukyou’s expression at the mention of Genma, but Ranma chuckled. “Nah, pops has been wearin’ that thing as long as I can remember. He ain't that much smaller as a man than as a panda anyways.”

Just then, Konatsu reentered through the service curtain carrying two stools, sans cushions, and set them up by the counter’s end with a melodic “Here you go!” before returning to cleaning duty elsewhere.

Ukyou replied, “Thanks, Tsu,” then shouted, “Ko! Three for table eight,” and slung a trio of okonomiyaki towards the other Konatsu. The waitress caught each one on a serving platter with practiced ease and approached the designated customers.

Ranma studied the two Konatsus for a moment and took down some mental notes. “Man, that _Split-Body_ technique of hers is somethin’ else. Even the old ghoul can't do nothin’ physical with her Splitting C-cat’s-Hair clones.”

Nodding, Ukyou said, “Yup, that girl's got real talent, even if she can't count cash and treats every five yen coin like it's made of gold.”

“You ain't still payin’ her only one of those an hour, are ya?”

Her brow furrowed in shame as she stared at the grill. “No way. I was only doing that to try and get her to stand up for herself, but she just kept accepting it like I was doing her a favor giving her anything at all. Only ended up reinforcing what her stepmother drilled into her head. I still feel pretty crappy about that.” She shook her head. “Nah, she gets free food an’ real wage, plus the extra futon in my room.”

Akane looked at her like she'd just admitted to taunting higuma in Hokkaido for fun and cried out in disbelief. “ _What?!_ " A number of patrons turned at the disturbance, and Akane flushed bright before leaning in and continuing in a hissed whisper. “You let Konatsu sleep in your _room?_ But- I mean, you- we all saw when the explosion hit, right? When the top of hi- of that outfit burned up, and… you know!”

Ranma muttered under his breath. “Here we go.”

Ukyou drew closer and spoke in a hushed, heated tone, barely quiet enough to keep both Ko and Tsu from overhearing. “What do ya want me to do, huh? Make her sleep in the living room, like a pet? Treat her ‘s if she doesn't deserve to live like a human being, the way _they_ did?” Pulling back, she closed her eyes and drew a long, slow breath. “Sorry hon, didn't mean to get like that. I just… that kid's had it hard enough as is. If she says she's a girl, she's a girl. Last thing she needs is more folks in her life telling her who she is.”

That brought Akane’s boil halfway down to a simmer, but the indignance in her eyes persevered. “But… then, what about baths?”

Ukyou shrugged. “She's pretty insistent on using the furo alone, an’ I usually go to the bath house down the street anyhow. I don't think she's bathed with anyone else at all since her parents died.”

The last comment made Akane falter, her hard expression crumbling into conflicted acquiescence. “...I guess it's not like… she can help it in the first place. I can't imagine what my life would be like if I'd been raised as a boy.”

A frown tugged at the corner of Ukyou’s mouth and the look in her eyes grew heavy. “Trust me sug, it makes everything real, real complicated.”

Recognition of her faux pas lit up Akane’s eyes, followed by pink-cheeked embarrassment. “Oh! Jeez, I'm sorry Ukyou, I kind of forgot about that. I mean, most of Furinkan knows you're a girl, and you use the same locker room as the rest of us, and, um-”

“S’all right, I get what you mean.” Ukyou sighed. “I guess I don't act like much of a guy anymore, huh? My clothes are about the only part of that whole disguise I've got left.” She gave a maudlin smile. “Really, it's probably a good thing my father isn't here so he can't make sure I keep it up.”

Ranma let out a low chuckle. “I bet if I'd been a girl pops woulda done the same thing to me, the way he goes on ‘bout manliness ‘n all, ‘cept he’d’a stuck close to keep me from slippin’. Woulda mixed my life up somethin’ nasty.”

Ukyou quirked a brow. “Who says he didn't?”

“Huh?”

“Mix up your life.”

“Oh.”

Ranma stared at the countertop and tugged lightly at his pigtail with one hand as an uneasy pause settled between the three of them. For a long few seconds, the sounds of the restaurant came to the forefront, backdropped by the low whistle of winter wind outside. A chill seeped into the air, though he could only barely feel it.

He shrugged. “I mean, it ain't all that bad, really. I'm doin’ alright.”

Ukyou's face bore an emotion he couldn't place and she looked like she wanted to say something, but another thought seemed to take over and she rushed to check on the food. “Oh shoot,” she said, flipping each of the four okonomiyaki onto their ungrilled sides. “I almost burned your orders! I'm sorry y'all, a minute later an’ I'd’ve been serving up charred frisbees.” When Ranma shot her his best pout, she laughed. “Don't worry Ran-chan, they're still good.”

“I bet he’d still eat them if they weren't.” Akane said.

He shot her a glare. “Hey, gimme _some_ credit. I don't just eat everything I see.”

Barking out a laugh, she said, “Ranma, I've seen you down a whole pack of rice crackers so stale that an archeologist would've thought they'd been in our kitchen since the Edo period.”

He was about to retaliate with a comment about her cooking, but for once couldn't find one in him. “Yeah, well, I need all the nutrients I can get. Got two whole bodies to feed, y'know.”

“I don't think it works that way.”

“Whatever, tomboy.”

As the night wound down, the three of them eased into comfortable, casual conversation. Ranma found himself enjoying more than just the food; he couldn't pinpoint anything specific - maybe it was the soothing warmth radiating from the grill, maybe it was how civil Akane and Ukyou were being with one another, or perhaps the steady trickle of customers finishing their meals and filtering out of the restaurant had allowed him to slowly let his guard down - but at some point the night had become inexplicably… easy. He didn't really know what to make of it. It almost scared him.

He only realized how late they'd stayed when Ko and Tsu disappeared in a puff of thick, pale smoke, leaving behind a lone Konatsu who began preparing the restaurant for closing. Much to Ranma's disappointment, he'd only gotten a glimpse of it and thus still had no clue which Konatsu had been the original, or if either one had been her in the first place. He wasn't even sure how much it would help him to know; the _Split-Body_ technique was frustratingly elusive, particularly since it hardly ever took him more than a handful of days to replicate a technique after seeing it in action. In the two months they'd known each other, Konatsu had performed it in front of him multiple times, and yet he still felt completely out of his depth. He'd be lying if he said it didn't eat at him a little.

By the time Akane registered the sound of wooden chairs being stacked atop one another, the place was halfway to immaculate. “Oh, is it really ten already? We better get going before Kasumi gets worried.”

Ukyou, who’d just started gathering up her dirty utensils, pointed a spatula stuck all over with bits of batter at the two of them. “Alright, but y’all better come back before school starts again, yeah? We've got two weeks of break this year, and if you think you can keep Ran-chan to yourself for all of it, think again, sug.” She gave them a playful wink, then walked through the service curtain with her hands full of foodstained metal. Ranma gave a quick wave goodbye while Akane rolled her eyes.

Just before they slipped out into the cold, Ranma said, “Gimme a sec ‘Kane, I'll catch up.” She raised a questioning brow but complied, boots sinking into snow as she disappeared through the doorway. He turned to Konatsu, who was emptying tepid water from a kettle into the small sink behind the counter. “Hey, Konatsu.”

She spun round, a touch of surprise evident in her eyes, then put the kettle down. “Oh! What can I do for you, Ranma?”

“You're, like, the best kunoichi of your generation, right? Like the legend says an’ all?”

Konatsu turned her head, one hand rising to her cheek as the other made a shooing gesture, a show of modesty that might’ve been more convincing if not for the overtly preening smile on her lips. “Oh, I couldn't possibly claim that title for myself, even if it somehow happened to be true!”

“So you must've had a damn good mentor, yeah?”

Her hand fell from her cheek, and though her smile didn't quite follow suit, it suddenly seemed a wan impression of what it had been a moment ago. “Actually, I didn't really have one. Father passed before he could teach me much. I had just enough time with the scrolls he left me to master my family's techniques before my stepmother found and burned them. Since then, I've just been figuring everything out on my own.”

Ranma's eyebrows jumped at the revelation, though otherwise he kept his composure. “Self-taught, huh? And the _Split-Body_ technique, izzat a family thing or did ya come up with it yourself?”

“It’s built on something I learned from the scrolls, but that one’s mine.”

Ranma nodded thoughtfully. A slow moment passed as his face scrunched up in contemplation, eyes unfocused. Uncertainty filtered into Konatsu’s body language, but before she could break the silence he nodded again, this time only once, eyes closed, expression resolute. He backed up a step from the counter, then supplicated himself in a deep kneeling bow, forehead nearing wood as he exclaimed, “Please teach me your technique!”

Konatsu had to lean over the countertop to see his bowing form. “Um, don't get me wrong, I'd really, really like to pay you back for how you helped me before! But my family’s code won't let me teach anyone anything unless it's part of an exchange.”

Ranma opened his eyes, then pulled himself up to a sitting position. His eyes unfocused as he mentally combed through his repertoire. A simple ki blast wouldn't be a fair trade, so the _Mouko Takabisha_ was a dead end, and the _Kachuu Tenshin Amaguriken_ and _Hiryuu Shoten Ha_ were both Amazon techniques, so they weren't his to give away in the first place. A frown weighed on his lips as he realized that, though the _Umisenken_ would likely be an equivalent swap as well as a fitting addition to a kunoichi’s skillset, his father had sealed the technique away; imparting that knowledge to her would be nothing short of traitorous.

He rose to his feet and brushed off his pants with his hands. “Ah well, thanks for hearin’ me out at least.” As he passed through the doorway, without turning around, he raised one hand above his head in a casual wave. “See ya round.”

By the time he caught up to Akane, she'd reached the walkway that ran parallel to the frozen canal. He decelerated as he approached until he was beside her, matching her pace. For a quiet minute, she didn't acknowledge his presence at all, letting the crunch of snow beneath their feet dissipate into the surrounding silence. His legs were soaked halfway up to the calf before she spoke up.

“So,” she said evenly, her words coming out in puffs of visible breath that obfuscated her face, “what was that about, Ranma?”

“Hmm? What was what about?”

She scoffed. “Whatever. If you want to go back and keep chatting up your “cute fiancée” then don't let me stop you.” She picked up her pace, pulling ahead of him.

“Huh?” He paused, then half-jogged back to her side, hands in his pockets to keep out the cold. “Is that what this is about? ‘Kane, I wasn't even talkin’ to Ucchan!”

“Oh yeah? Then what _were_ you doing?”

“Talkin’ to Konatsu.”

Akane froze in her tracks. She turned to look down at him with a glare that could bore through steel. “Are you _kidding_ me? Three fiancées isn't enough for you, no! You just have to chat up every pretty face you see!”

His brow furrowed. “I wasn't chattin’ her up, alright? I was just askin’ her about one’a her techniques. Nothin’ an uncute tomboy like you needs to be jealous about.”

Between Akane’s huffs and Ranma's deep, steadying breaths, the wisps streaming from each of their mouths clouded the space between them to the point that he could only just make out the red-hot fury in her face as she shouted, “Oh, I bet she was showing you her ‘techniques’ alright! Well, see if I care! I bet you perverts are just perfect for each other.”

With that, she stormed off, leaving Ranma standing alone in the snow. Every muscle in his body had gone tense, his joints had locked in place, his jaw was clenched. He closed his eyes and breathed slowly, deeply, in… then out. In… then out. In… then back out in a heavy sigh. After a few seconds he managed to unclench his fists. When he started walking again, for the first few steps his feet only sank ankle-deep into the snow around him, which had suddenly gone from the soft slush of the city to tough, solid snowpack, half-frozen together like that of tall mountain slopes.

When he arrived at the Tendou dojo, the window to the room he and his father shared on the second story was dark, which usually meant Genma was either asleep or out late drinking. He let just an inch of tension slip out of his shoulders. After entering the genkan, he sat down in front of the shoe rack, slipping off his wet shoes. He'd gotten the first off and was fidgeting with the second when his father’s voice sounded from behind him.

“Boy.”

Ranma suppressed a start and cursed the carelessness that led him to enter through the front instead of sneaking in through the window. “Hey, Pops.”

“Don't think I wouldn't notice that you haven't done any training since lunch. I didn’t raise a layabout who would let himself slip as soon as things got easy. Meet me in the dojo in ten.”

“Sure thing, Pops.” After setting his shoes in their spot on the rack, he rose and slipped past his father without making eye contact. While he made his way upstairs to swap his soaked silks for some dry clothes, his father called out to him.

“And don't forget to change back before you do! I didn't raise some weak little girl either!”

Ten minutes later, a taller, broader Ranma in a white gi crossed the walkway between the house and the dojo only to find Genma seated on the porch next to the open door. His face bore an expression that Ranma, if he didn't know any better, might label as genuine shock, eyes wide and unfocused, hands betraying the slightest tremble where they rested on his thighs. The sight was so unusual that it brought him to a halt at the end of the walkway. “Uh, Pops?”

His father gave no sign he'd even heard him.

Ranma quirked an eyebrow. “Alright, well… I'm just gonna do some warm-ups, okay?”

Again, no response.

He shrugged his shoulders. “Meetcha inside, I guess.”

Proceeding through the open door, Ranma was immediately greeted by a rancid smell that nearly made him gag. He looked around the dojo for anything that could produce such a stench, but the only thing out of place was a cluster of black markings about two feet wide in the center of the polished wood floor and an object not much bigger than a piece of chalk sitting at its edge.

He shook his head. The dojo was no stranger to being vandalized; once a month or so some kid would tag the wall or the gate, or even the side of the house, if they were especially sneaky. He had to give this particular tagger credit for managing to get in and out unnoticed, that was a feat the average graffiti artist was simply not capable of. He approached to get a better look at their handiwork but stopped short when he recognized the characters that had been spelled out in clean, direct strokes:

**早乙女**  
(Saotome)

Curiosity piqued, he then examined the implement that had been used to write his family name. It looked almost like some sort of dried up root vegetable, pale and inconsistent in color with multiple bumps, kinks and wrinkles along its length. The end closest to the last stroke of the last character was stained black with ink. The other end was flatter, an unsettling collage of deep crimson and charred black bits. A hint of off-white poked through near the middle of the burnt mess. Those colors started to blur in his vision, soon joined by the neutral tones of the dojo’s interior, when Ranma realized he was looking at a human finger.

The next thing he knew, he was stumbling backwards, only vaguely conscious of his actions. He couldn't bring himself to tear his eyes away from the finger until the ground fell out from under him. He crashed into the snow, the frigid sting of the slush and the tingling change of his curse working in tandem to snap him back to his senses. He struggled to prop himself up on his elbows, no small feat in a foot of snow and the folds of his now loose gi. Once righted, he looked to the door of the dojo, and even though his position below the porch prevented him from getting another look at what he'd just seen, the knowledge that it was still there, just beyond his line of sight, was enough to force him to look away.

In his desperate attempt to look at anything but the doorway, Ranma caught Genma’s gaze, and for the smallest fraction of a second he saw something impossible. He saw raw guilt in his father's eyes. It was there for a paper-thin sliver of a moment before it disappeared and Genma looked away into the distance, but by then the image was already burnt into his brain.

A tumultuous blend of shock and confusion whirled within him, making the notion of getting up a fringe possibility at best, so he did the only thing he could and let his head sink back into the snow, hoping the cold would slow the world's relentless spinning to a crawl.


	2. Shifting Point

“So, Saotome-san, would you like to do us all a favor and tell us what the hell is going on?”

For all the effort Nabiki was making to appear irritated, Akane could tell her sister was far more curious about why Genma had called the house meeting than she was annoyed about being pulled away from her late-night accounting session. The younger Tendou sisters were seated across from one another at the family room table, with Kasumi next to Akane and their father next to Nabiki. Each of the two older Tendous clearly still had sleep’s hooks in them; her father’s eyelids drooped slowly downward whenever his conscious efforts to keep them open lapsed, and Kasumi was periodically overtaken by long, quiet yawns that she did her best to hide behind a demure hand. For her own part, Akane had only just managed to slip into her speckled grey pajamas and get a catnap’s worth of rest before being roused, so currently she was neither coherent enough to be cranky nor groggy enough to be unobservant.

On the left side of the table, in stark contrast to the state of herself and her family, Ranma sat stiffly, practically radiating nervous restlessness in his gi, brow and jaw set, eyes darting from the tabletop to the hallway that led to the genkan, the stairs, and the dojo. His muscles were tensed like he was expecting an attack, which made Akane think he'd perhaps encountered another enthusiastic challenger who just couldn't hold off until sunrise, though typically such conflicts were more than enough to startle the household awake on their own. Occasionally he'd look across the table at his father's stoic visage, glaring piercingly through his pitch-black bangs as though he were trying to see beyond the flesh into the man's very soul, but a moment later he'd look away again.

After a moment of quiet consideration, Genma folded his arms and addressed Nabiki’s question. “Yes, well, there was… an incident.”

The word seemed to snap Ranma back to the situation at hand. He scoffed. “You call that an _incident?_ "

Her father, dragged halfway into lucidity by Ranma's tone, raised an eyebrow. “Saotome, what happened?”

Narrowing his eyes at Ranma, Genma replied, “Maybe if my impudent son would let me talk, you'd know already.” He pushed his glasses up. “As I was saying… tonight, Ranma received a challenge.”

Akane groaned. Ranma attracted contenders like flames drew moths; Genma may as well have called them all down to tell them the sun had set. “If that's all this is about, Saotome-san, you really didn't have to wake us up. I'm going back to bed.”

She was halfway to her feet when Ranma pointed down the hall and half-shouted, " _That_ ain't a challenge, pops, that's a threat! Someone writin’ our family name in the dojo with a _dismembered fuckin’ finger_ is a _threat!_ ”

Akane froze as a collective gasp chorused between her sisters and father. She sat back down, only distantly conscious of her body, as she tried to process what she'd just heard. After a beat of stunned silence around the table, she stammered out, “Wh-what?”

Unphased, Genma doubled down on his glare towards Ranma, leaning forward as he spat, “Don't interrupt me again, boy!” Straightening up, he continued. “Ranma received an _overly dramatic_ challenge from some very powerful people. The, er, situation,” here he made a loose gesture with his hand that was at once conciliatory and dismissive, “in the dojo is the signature of the Naito clan. They're descendants of an old shinobi line who think it's their duty to judge the worth of martial artists. When they find someone with true potential, they send a message like the one we saw. After that, they'll wait until you're at your most vulnerable, then attack. If you win, you'll be recognized as one of the greatest practitioners of the Art in the world.” He closed his eyes and curled a trembling fist to punctuate this point, and he looked like he was about to descend into histrionics until he noticed that Ranma, while visibly intrigued, was only fractionally mollified by his explanation. “Be grateful they chose you, son! This is the opportunity of a lifetime!”

Ranma raised an eyebrow and voiced what Akane was also thinking. “That still don't explain the finger.”

Genma hesitated, his bombast losing a bit of steam. “Well… family honor is very important to the Naito, so I wouldn't be surprised if they used their dead ancestors’ fingers to keep them from giving out challenges to anyone that isn't worthy of something so important.”

Her father rubbed his moustache in thought. “Hmm, yes… that does sound likely, old friend. It would also let the person they challenge know just how serious a situation it is, even if they don't know who the Naito are.” Both men nodded sagely, wordlessly grunting their concurrence.

For a moment, Ranma was silent, his face scrunched up in the same look of frustrated thought he'd worn during the math exam the week before. “Why would they be tryna catch me with my guard down? Wouldn't they wanna test me at my best to see what I can really do?”

At first, Genma looked like he was about to respond, but then, in a startlingly sudden motion, he gripped the edge of the table and shoved it forward, ramming Ranma in the ribs and knocking him from his cross-legged position onto his back with a loud thud. Akane winced at the brutal sounds of both impacts. Ranma hissed in pain, wrapping one arm around his middle and propping himself up on the other as his father spoke. “A martial artist is only as strong as he is at his weakest, boy. I thought I'd taught you that lesson enough times to remember. And if you're so weak that you weren't ready to defend against that, you're going to need to train harder than ever if you want to beat whoever the Naito send after you.”

Akane could see a snide retort forming on Ranma's lips as he sat back up, but Nabiki chimed in before it got any further. “How exactly do you know all of this?”

Genma’s harsh scowl faded back into something more neutrally stern. “When Ranma and I were in Kyoto - oh, six or seven years ago, I think - we spent a week living with this Shinto priest by the name Shimizu. The whole time we were there, all the old coot did was mope and sigh like a moody teenager, so I tried asking him what was wrong. I figured if I could get him to talk a little, he'd lighten up and stop making the place feel so gloomy, you know? Instead, he goes on and on about some miko that’d been there before, and how much he missed her.” Genma leaned in. “Turns out, a month before we got there, her brother had gotten a challenge from the Naito clan. He told me how he'd seen the fight happen when he went to visit her. Her brother lost, and the two of them left town.” He lowered his head and shook it. “Must've been too ashamed to show their faces.”

He looked up at Nabiki, and she gave an emotionless, “Mm,” and a curt nod to indicate she had no other questions, though Akane could tell she was still processing the information, the eternally turning gears in her mind hard at work behind her carefully blank expression. Akane wondered to herself just how Nabiki could possibly make money off of a situation like this, though she had no doubt that her sister would find a way. She rubbed at the sleeves of her pajama top, hoping she wouldn't have to endure the cold air in the family room too much more, absentmindedly longing for the soft embrace of her comforter.

Genma’s focus returned to Ranma, who wasn't quite managing to suppress his glower. “Now look, boy, these guys are real no-nonsense types. They'll wait as long as it takes to catch you off guard. When they come at you, they won't be doing any chit-chatting, so save your breath and keep your mouth shut. They'll be putting everything they have into the fight, so you're gonna do the same. That also means they won't stop until you make them stop, so knock ‘em out, tie ‘em up- hell, break some bones if you have to. After that, you bring them to me. I'll make sure we’re well rewarded.”

He rose to his feet and began walking to the stairs, then paused next to Ranma. “You only get one shot at this. Don't you dare dishonor this family by screwing it up.”

As Genma disappeared up stairwell, Akane shivered. She was feeling colder by the second and she could've sworn that if she closed her eyes and concentrated she’d feel herself being physically pulled to her bed. Unfortunately, it seemed her foot hadn't gotten the message, having fallen asleep while she'd been seated. By the time she'd driven the pins and needles out, almost everyone else at the table had already said their goodnights and dispersed to their respective rooms. The only one left other than her was Ranma, who hadn't moved from his spot and was staring past the tabletop as though he could see clear through it, arms folded over his stomach, a fidgety finger tapping on one bicep. “Come on Ranma, I know the hit didn't hurt you _that_ much. You took worse before breakfast this morning.”

He started when she spoke, like he hadn't even realized anyone was still there. “Huh? Oh- no, it ain't that. I'm just tryna figure out what's goin’ on.”

She looked at him through half-lidded eyes, brows raised, and said, “Didn't your father just explain it?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, but… I've just got a weird feeling about it. I mean, don't this all feel kinda fucky to you?”

“A little, I guess, but… I mean, you get weirdos challenging you all the time. Maybe these weirdos are just extra weird.” She yawned. “What about it is getting to you so much? He didn't totally make up you two living with that priest or anything, did he?”

He grimaced and leaned an elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand, the restless finger now tapping along his jaw. “Naw, I remember Shimizu-san. That was the first year after the N-n-nekoken training. I was really, really bad at keepin’ it down back then. Even just thinkin’ ‘bout c-cats would get me all panicky. ‘Course, he didn't know, so one day he showed me a picture of her holdin’ one, an’... I blacked out. Didn't wake up ‘til the mornin’ after. He wasn't hurt too bad, buncha shallow cuts, nothin’ too deep, but after that whenever he looked at me he had this, this fear in his eyes.“ He wrapped his arms around his waist. “That's why we only stayed a week. I don't really remember anythin’ else from that week, but I remember him, an’ I remember that.”

Akane nodded quietly, digesting his words. She'd always thought his fear of cats was as bad as a phobia could possibly be, so to hear him talk of a time when he could descend into his animalistic state from a picture alone made her wonder just how much she knew about the nature of his unique condition.

Seeing Akane was not about to respond, Ranma continued. “Anyways, he ain't making him up, but that don't really mean much. Pops always puts some truth into his lies. Makes it more believable. Plus, he spent more time tellin’ that story than he usually spends sayin’ anything, which is what he does when he's tryna convince somebody of somethin’.” He put his face in his hands, then dragged them down, groaning. “I knew I wasn't gonna get a break. Whatever’s goin’ on, I'll have to spend at least a week or two trainin’ for it. An’ on top of it all, unless Ryouga shows up, I'm only gonna have pops to spar with, an’ I really don't wanna deal with him right now. ”

Akane turned where she stood to face Ranma more directly, fists clenched at her sides and determination in her voice as she said, “Then spar with me.”

“Come on, you know I can't do that. You're not on my level. You'd hafta get at least as good as Ucchan or Shamps first, otherwise it just wouldn’t be fair.”

Akane found herself too tired to summon her usual levels of anger, so she settled for ‘miffed’. “Then just train me until I am!”

“Uh, well… I dunno, ‘Kane…”

“Look, without school, we've both got enough time to get some serious practice done, and if you're training me you don't have to worry about your dad bothering you about the fight or the engagement. It's a win-win!”

Ranma broke eye contact, turning back to the tabletop with a frown. Akane watched as he sat silently, the moment stretching out until it was spread as thin as her patience, then shook her head and walked away. She was at the base of the stairs when, without turning around, he said, “You go for a jog round seven each mornin’, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Meet me in the dojo after.”

She stilled for a moment, stunned, then continued up the stairs, into her room, and under the covers, unable to suppress her giddy, cheek-splitting smile.

Dawn found the Tendou dojo more serene than the dusk had left it. The sun, only barely above the horizon, peeked through clearing clouds, casting soft, pale light over the slowly melting snow. As Akane approached from the front gate, cheeks flush, muscles limber and loose under her sweatsuit, the day's first light outlined the dojo in a glowing aureole.

When she entered, Ranma was already there, in the middle of one of his warmup katas, his silks rippling with each step, kick, and spin. Impressive as his movements were, it was the floor that caught her eye. Though devoid of extraneous digits, the writing in the center still managed to strike her as particularly unnerving, as though the strokes still held the lingering essence of the implement they'd been created with. She shuddered. It was easily the creepiest way to send a message she'd ever heard of, though some of the ways she'd been asked out by boys before Ranma entered her life weren't too far behind.

After a moment filled only with the sounds of bare feet hitting wood and clothes shifting on skin, she asked, “So… what'd you do with the…?”

Without interrupting his graceful flow, he replied, “Pops said he was gonna ‘take care of it’. I didn't really wanna know how.”

“Yeah, me neither.” She looked at the writing again, gaze dragged down out of some morbid curiosity, then pulled her eyes away. “Um, I'm gonna go change into a gi.”

He finished his kata, nodded, then began another.

Upon her return, he finished his warmups and told her to start on her own as he watched. For the next hour, he critiqued her technique, stopping her every few seconds to adjust something. Once she'd widened her stance for one step, she'd have to shorten the arc of her strike for the next. For some katas, especially the ones she practiced the least, she had to adjust multiple aspects per step, which frustrated her to no end. She only kept her irritation under control by reminding herself that he knew what he was talking about. She knew that his father nitpicked his own movements just as thoroughly, and so far he was relaying his corrections much more respectfully than Genma ever did.

As she wrapped up a Taikyoku kata, her movements now more energy-efficient than before, Ranma held up a hand. “Alright, not bad. I can tell you know the ‘how’ of most’a your katas, you just gotta learn some of the ‘why’s.”

“What do you mean?”

“Here, I'll show ya.” He repeated the kata she'd just finished, then paused during a block. “See, at this point you've been pressin’ the opponent enough to get ‘em to press back. The point of the move to the side that comes next is, if they keep goin’ after you block the first hit, you just sidestepped ‘em an’ maybe got an opening, and if they're just testin’ the waters then they gotta adjust their stance to deal with your next strike.” He demonstrated each, then turned back to her. “Either way, you're keepin’ control, but it's better if they go for the second strike, so you want this block to look weaker on the side you're ‘bout to step away from.”

She furrowed her brow. “Jeez, I've been doing that kata for years and I never knew that.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured. You know most of your katas almost perfectly, but there's these little adjustments you've made that cut off your options in a real fight. I'm guessin’ your dad taught you the movements but never made you put ‘em to use?”

Akane huffed. “Uh-huh. He never told me why, but I remember overhearing him tell Kasumi that he,” she raised her hands to airquote, “‘couldn't stand to hit his little girl’. So he just made me practice them by myself over and over.”

Ranma shook his head. “See, that'll only get ya halfway. You gotta put it to use too. Most of the ‘why’ is stuff you learn when you fight, an’ hearin’ someone explain it ain't gonna teach you near as well as feelin’ it out yourself will.” His face broke into a grin. “How ‘bout we do some hands-on schoolin’?”

She froze reflexively, tensing up and looking towards him with her eyes wide open, but when she saw his eyebrows jump at her reaction in what looked like innocent confusion she paused, wondering if he even knew just what that phrase could've implied.

Ranma leaned away as much as was reasonable without taking a step back, raising his hands defensively. “Hey, come on, wasn't sparring the whole reason you asked me to do this in the first place?”

With a quick roll of her eyes, she released the tension in her limbs. Given that for as long as she'd known him, he’d been going to school with her like everyone else, it was easy to forget sometimes that Ranma had only clocked a handful of years in public schools, so innuendo was far from his strong suit. On top of that, where Akane had come to expect disgusting, revolting, even threatening levels of perversion from all types of guys (but especially teenage boys), Ranma seemed to be about as sexually twisted as a monk living alone in the mountains. He was still a boy however, and between that and the weird way he acted in his cursed form sometimes she couldn't quite bring herself to trust him fully, though he certainly ranked far above almost every other guy in her eyes.

“Nevermind. Yeah, let's spar.” She took a wide-legged Bajiquan stance, her front hand curling into a palm-up fist near her face, her back hand cocked by her torso.

His grin returned, and he brought his arms up, one low and one high, and shifted all of his weight onto his back leg, his front foot only lightly touching the ground. This being one of Ranma's (admittedly numerous) favored opening stances, she recognized it as a Xuan Ji stance right away.

After a brief moment of stay, Akane took the initiative, opting for a Ti opening to try and destabilize his kicks by ramming a knee into his thigh. He countered by leaping when she raised her leg, then planting a foot on her thigh, launching himself into the air and forcing her foot back onto the ground. When he landed behind her she spun and loosed a bevy of close elbow strikes and punches, each of which he narrowly evaded. Then, without breaking his momentum, he fluidly shifted into a grappling form and latched onto her arm as it passed, pushing against the elbow until it locked, throwing off her balance and sending her spinning past him onto the ground. 

Akane rose to her feet, no worse for wear despite the rough landing, and shifted into a Goju-ryu stance, feet at perpendicular angles, palms open and close in the front. There was a glint in his eye when he saw how easily she'd taken the hit, and he quickly took the offensive.

This pattern repeated itself so many times Akane lost track: each fighter would block or dodge the other's assault, all the while searching for an opening. Eventually she would see an opportunity coming a move or two away, but just before she got the chance to capitalize, Ranma would slip into a new form out of nowhere and take her down. She'd seen him switch styles when battling others, but being subjected to it herself made the change feel all the more jarring. Suddenly, the strategy she'd built against his old form would be defunct, and she’d have precious little time to reanalyze his movements and think up a new strategy. She grew increasingly frustrated with each fall she took.

Eventually, he held up a hand again, just before she could start with a new form. “Lemme ask ya,” he said, quirking a brow. “Did your old man ever actually tell you ‘bout shifting?”

She blinked. “About what?”

He snapped his fingers like he'd just remembered where he left a 10,000 yen note. “Ha! I knew somethin’ was up. Your dad gave you the lock to the Anything Goes style but never got around to givin’ you the key!”

Akane frowned. She'd known her father's discontinuation of her training had put a crimp in her abilities, but she'd thought he'd at least taught her all of the main principles of Anything Goes. “So what is it?”

“Look, y’know why we hafta learn as many styles as we can, right?”

She nodded. “So we always have the edge up no matter what style our opponent uses.”

“Nah, that's only half of it. See, the other half is, you wanna be able to switch between ‘em so fast they can't pin you down.” He began moving through the same Taikyoku kata he'd helped her with earlier. “Now, you can swap forms whenever you get a breather an’ pick up a little advantage here an’ there-” Reaching the block that preceded the sidestep, he instead shifted his weight further onto his front foot, grabbed at his nonexistent opponent’s wrist with his blocking arm, then yanked as he brought his back knee up for a gut strike from some street style she only vaguely recognized. “-or you can control the whole fight by keepin’ ‘em guessing.”

“And that's what shifting is?”

“Mostly, yeah. It's about findin’ moves from one style that’re close enough to part of a move from another style that you can switch between 'em while you fight. Memorize that, and then, bam, you can change up between those two in an instant. Pops always said they were ‘pivot positions’ but I just call ‘em shiftin’ points. The more styles you know, the more shiftin’ points you can use to chain moves an’ forms together.

“Now,” he said, smirking, “how ‘bout I show you some, and then you can try ‘em out against me?”

By the time Kasumi checked in to let them know lunch would be ready soon, both fighters were panting, sweaty messes, so when she left, the two of them nodded at one another, then headed out to the porch to recover. Akane plopped down next to Ranma, letting the ache sink into her bones and grinning like a madwoman. “I ha-ah, haven't had tha-ah, that much fun in _months! _"__

__Ranma leaned back, palms flat on the wood as he took a moment to collect his breath. “You picked that stuff up faster than I thought you would.”_ _

__Akane laughed mirthlessly. “Well, when you spend your first month of high school fighting a horde of total creeps just to get to class each day, you either learn fast or you learn to learn fast.”_ _

__“Guess so. Huh.” He paused for a beat. “Y’know, now that I think about it, goin’ from practicing alone straight to crowd fighting is one tough learning curve. ” He shot her a skeptical look. “You sure your dad never sparred with you or anything?”_ _

__“What,” she said, weaving a playful lilt into her voice, ”afraid you might not be the only prodigy in Nerima?”_ _

__He huffed, turning forwards, eyes tracing the patches of half-melted slush in the grass that had somehow survived to see midday. “‘Course not. Ain't no one as good as me.”_ _

__Akane simultaneously groaned, rolled her eyes, and leaned back until she was lying on the porch, arms splayed and legs draped off the edge. “Please don't ruin this by being an ass right now.”_ _

__To his credit, Ranma stayed quiet for a little while. The two of them sunk into a companionable, if slightly awkward, silence, letting the stillness in the cool air seep into their skin. The only motion in those minutes were the slowly calming breaths in their chests and the lethargic crawl of clouds from the previous night's snowfall across the pale blue sky, their soft shadows gliding over the ground like umbrous, amorphous manta rays. Something strange and tepid and soothing pooled in her core, and she wondered, for just a moment, if she might be able to hold onto it._ _

__Then she remembered what was still in the dojo. She sighed. “Hey, Ranma.”_ _

__Peeking over his shoulder at her prone form, he responded with a soft, questioning hum._ _

__“What’re you going to do about…” She flicked her eyes upwards. “I mean, do you have a plan or anything?”_ _

__For a moment, Ranma's eyes unfocused. He turned away, leaning forward, steadily taking in and letting out a long breath. She could hear the light tapping of his finger on the edge of the porch. Then, abruptly, the tapping stopped, and he nodded to himself._ _

__“Yeah,” he said, “I've got somethin’.”_ _


	3. Tracing Pathways

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long y'all, I'm going to try to get at least one chapter done every two weeks from here on out, if not more. Thanks for reading, and stay tuned because I've got a lot in store for this work.

Steam rose from the surface of the furo’s waters in pale, filmy tendrils, drawn like intangible rivers to the thin sliver of window he’d left open. The wisps danced as they mingled with the brisk air coming in, then slipped through to dissipate into the ebbing and flowing winds of the world outside. Ranma idly watched the interchange as he soaked his sore muscles, lower half hidden beneath the water, elbows propped on the rim, his hair cold, wet, and unbound. The cool breeze that trickled in leeched what little heat was left from his body above the waist and temptation, needling and insistent, urged him to sink further into the warmth, to let his head disappear with the rest of his form and his hair unfurl into a floating, silky corona around him. Instead, he leaned forward and began the process of rebraiding his tresses, practiced motions binding each strand tightly into place.

He sighed as he finished tying up the end, pinching it mindlessly between his fingers. He'd waited too long to get a trim again; his hair was fraying and thinning at the tips. He knew he should be taking better care of it, but at the same time he knew that even if he did it would only end up back in a pigtail where it wouldn't make much of a difference anyways. On top of that, his nomadic upbringing had disallowed the luxury of regular haircuts, as any money they'd had to spare was immediately spent on food, camping supplies, and booze, so it was easy for him to forget he even needed them sometimes. In their years on the road, his father, being bald as a boulder, had suffered none for it, while Ranma had gotten into the habit of crudely shearing a couple inches of his ponytail off with a hunting knife only when it got too long to fight with, or when his father began to nag him about it.

Occasionally, when they'd stayed at a temple or shrine or the like, some kind stranger there would ‘tsk’ at his travel-bedraggled mane and offer to trim and tame it for him. He'd been put off by the whole idea at first, having been consistently taught not to talk too much to anyone who couldn't provide food, shelter, or martial arts techniques, but he'd soon begun to relish such opportunities as they came. The feeling of fingers carding through his hair, of being groomed and fussed over, kindled something soothing and vital in his chest that he quickly learned to keep to himself.

He wasn't sure exactly what good he'd done to deserve someone in his life that let him indulge in such an experience on as regular a basis as he could remember to keep, but then again, he wasn't sure if anyone could possibly do enough to deserve Kasumi in the first place. He wondered what new pinch of insight she'd slip into their conversation this time. During his most recent cut she’d casually mentioned that his favorite ice cream parlor was likely far enough from anyone he knew that he could use it as a temporary hideout whenever he needed to wait for things to cool down. The last time Kodachi had come to his neck of the woods searching high and low for her Ranma-sama and That Pigtailed Hussy, he'd spent a quiet evening enjoying an extravagant parfait while the frustrated Kunou sibling turned the other half of the ward upside-down.

His thoughts began to stray towards what deeply unpleasant things she might’ve inflicted upon him had she found him in either form, but before he could cause himself any more unnecessary stress he rose from the furo, doing his best to leave his concerns behind with the water.

Upon returning to his room, he noticed with no small amount of dread that his father's pack was missing from its usual place next to the dresser. There were only two reasons his father took trips without him: to avoid whatever was going on at home, or to bring something (or someone) back with him. He vehemently hoped this was a case of the former, but he knew that with his luck he'd soon have to deal with a lecherous old goat “training” him on top of the whole Naito situation. It'd been over a month since Happosai had last terrorized the Tendou dojo, a fact he and the girls of the house were deeply thankful for. Though not a religious person himself, he uttered a quick prayer urging whatever kami may be listening to ensure that the streak continued.

As the early afternoon sun melted the last bits of snow into puddles, the typical inhabitants of Nerima’s commercial streets and thoroughfares slowly came out of the woodwork, pouring the sights, smells, and sounds of everyday life back into the ward’s veins. Though the lunch rush was already over, Ranma still found himself jumping from rooftop to rooftop to avoid the foot traffic, unconsciously adjusting his pace to account for the wet-slickened tiles.

When he reached his destination, he hopped back down to the pavement, eliciting startled gasps from a couple of passers-by while the true locals, numbed by experience, gave him only passing glances before going about their business. Just as he pulled a hand out of his pocket to slide the front door open, he was given pause by the sound of a familiar voice crooning along to a downtempo ballad that was somewhere around the lower end of mezzo-soprano. Though the door muffled the singing some, the voice rang out with confidence and clarity, matching the slightly crackling recording note for note.

" _...yume wa mata tooi ichinichi datta…_ "

Then, as the melody’s pitch began to rise, swelling with passion, the voice, in its attempt to follow, broke, falling silent for a beat, then continued an octave lower, far more quietly and tenuously.

" _...ashita wa kitto ii koto, aru to shinjitetai no maybe tomorrow…_ "

The instrumental section that followed allowed him a moment to refocus, but by then he'd hesitated long enough for needles of uncertainty to creep into his skin. His hand hovered before the door for a few heavy seconds until the memory of his father's face, of that single instant of guilt, flashed through his mind. He slid the door open.

The interior of Ucchan’s was in a state of mild disarray; crumbs and used serving platters sat atop half the length of the countertop, a few tables and pushed-out chairs dotted the left wall, and most of the cushions on the stools were at least slightly askew. Konatsu, who'd been wiping down the grill when he entered, started at the click of the door in its track. “Oh!” She turned to the window that connected the front of the restaurant to the kitchen in the back and turned off the radio sitting on the sill, then turned back to him with a smile, hands folded in front of her apron. “Hi again, Ranma! We just wrapped up lunch and Ukyou-sama is out meeting with a vendor, but I can make you something instead if you like.”

Mentally, he counted back the days since break had started and reaffirmed that it was, in fact, Monday. “Thought you guys only did lunch on the weekend.”

“Usually, yes, but since the Nekohanten closed we've been getting a lot more customers than usual, so Ukyou-sama figured we could bring in even more business if we did lunch every day while school’s out.”

Ranma chuckled. “Yeah, that’s Ucchan for ya. Don't think she could slow down if she tried.”

Her smile widening, she nodded. “Mmhm! If anything, I think she's thriving on all the extra work. We had almost as many customers at lunch just now as we usually get for dinner, and she was so happy that I thought she'd bought some new spatulas or something.” Her eyes glazed over very slightly, as though the memory was a delicious treat she was savoring.

“Ain't you guys a little understaffed to be handlin’ that much?”

Konatsu tilted her head a smidge, causing her long ponytail to swing behind her a little, wavering as minutely as her cheer. “Ah, well… maybe? But Ukyou-sama won't hire anyone without martial arts training, and she doesn't want a waitress that would keep you away, so it's just me.” Her eyebrows and hands rose at the same time as she made placative gestures. “Not that I'm complaining! Or would ever complain! I know I'm very, very lucky to have this job.” Her hands once more folded in front of her, she dipped her head, continuing meekly. “Please don't tell her I said anything. I'll let her know you were looking for her when she returns.”

Nonplussed, Ranma said, “Uh… ok?” then recalled his purpose in coming to the restaurant in the first place. “Anyways, I'm not here for her. I wanted to talk to you.”

Surprise dislodged whatever had dulled her expression. “Me? But…” Realization washed over her, and she leaned slightly over the grill, her voice almost a whisper. “Is- is this about…?”

He nodded. “Yeah, tradin’ techniques.”

“Oh. Oh!” Eyes lighting up with excitement, she leaned even further forward, planting both hands flat on the rag she'd been using before he entered. “You remembered one you can teach me, didn't you!”

“I- pretty much, yeah. I got one. But listen,” he said, folding his arms, lowering his voice and mirroring her posture until their eyes were at most a foot apart, “this don't go any further than you, ok? You don't teach this to nobody, you don't show it off, you don't let anyone even know you know it if you can help it. Got that?”

Konatsu, her face a flimsy mask of seriousness as her eyes betrayed her giddiness, nodded furiously.

“We got a deal then.” Ranma's cheeks split into a toothy, cocky grin. “Watch, you're gonna love this.” With that, he disappeared into the _Umisenken,_ savoring the shock his display elicited from Konatsu. Almost immediately, he felt her aura extend, subtle and inviting like a lightweight blanket, reaching out in an attempt to find him as the rest of her straining senses failed to. He let it pass over him, or, more accurately, through him, and watched her features fill with awe as her efforts came up short. By the time she reached a hand out to touch the space he'd occupied when he vanished, he was already behind her. She jumped when he tapped her on the shoulder, then spun around, unconsciously taking as viable a defensive stance as her kimono would allow. Her steely, searching gaze melted only when he released the technique, reappearing in her senses, grin still plastered on his face.

“So,” he said, “how’s that for a fair trade?”

“That was…” she said, balling her fists in front of her, eyes sparkling, " _...incredible!_ How in the world- what kind of… I mean, I know some tricks, but nothing that… that _thorough!_ I couldn't even-” She paused. “And you want to teach me that?”

“Figured if anyone could make use of it, it'd be you, so-”

She cut him off by wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug. He froze instinctively, letting himself ease into the embrace only when she said, “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Even then, though, he couldn't find it in him to relax fully until she broke off to say, “I won't let you down.”

“Um… ok?” he said nervously. “Anyways, when can we get started?”

After a moment of thought, Konatsu’s excitement tapered off some. “Ah, well, I don't actually have much free time these days, but we could begin when break ends I guess.”

“Nah, can't wait that long. I wanted to be able to use it by the time…” His voice trailed off as his finger began to tap against his thigh. He then straightened, smacking a fist down onto an open palm. “If you had another waitress to help out, wouldja be able to teach me between lunch an’ dinner?”

“Maybe… but who could we hire?”

Grabbing a mostly empty pitcher of ice water, he said, “Me,” and upended it over his head.

Konatsu hummed her understanding, touching a finger to the side of her jaw. “You've already helped out around here before so you know how it works, and Ukyou-sama certainly wouldn't complain… but what about Akane? Wouldn't she get jealous if you spent so much time around one of your other fiancées?”

“Nah,” he said, “I just started trainin’ her this mornin’ so really this’d just make things even between ‘em.” Unspoken went the assumptions that what Shampoo didn't know couldn't hurt her and what Kodachi didn't know couldn't hurt him.

“Perfect! It's a plan then.” She picked up the rag. “I'll finish cleaning up, then I'll get your uniform ready, and after that we can get to the fun stuff.”

Eager to get as much training in as possible, Ranma said, “Don't worry ‘bout fixin’ the place up, I'll take care of that. You go ahead an’ get the uniform.”

Konatsu’s eyes lingered on his proffered hand for a second before she sighed and placed the rag in it, saying with a smile, “Okay. Thank you Ranma.”

Within half an hour, the restaurant was spotless and Ranma was wrapped up in a kimono-apron combo identical to Konatsu’s in all aspects except size. His was clearly tailored to fit his cursed form, a task it accomplished nearly perfectly, and he wondered if Ukyou hadn't modified one of her spares after the first time he'd helped her out. He and Konatsu sat on the floor of the upstairs apartment’s living room, her in seiza and him in as comfortable a position as his garb would allow, legs stretched out in front of him and arms propping him up from behind. “Should I really be wearin’ all this right now? I mean, I can still teach ya the hard part of the _Umisenken_ in this getup, but how much movin’ around does the _Split-Body_ need?”

“Thousand seas? It even has a cool name!” She let her eyes unfocus, then collected herself. “It doesn't really require any, actually. Well, not until you start to multitask at least. The first step is mostly just meditation.”

He frowned. Though he was no stranger to meditation, it tended to be a simple preparatory aspect rather than a specific necessity. He'd found few uses for it outside of exercises meant to expand one’s ki reserves. “Yeah? What for?”

“I think first I should ask, what do you know about ki?” As his frown deepened, she hastily said, “Not that I think you don't know a lot about it! It's just, my technique is based in an aspect of ki that most martial artists don't use much.”

Indignance largely deflated, he replied, “Well, I know more than most folks this side of a hundred years old, that's for sure. I've got enough of it that I hafta keep it leashed all the time, an’ I've got the control to do it. I can sense an’ channel auras with it too. Then there's this.” He raised a hand and focused, manifesting wisps of bright white ki with the blue tinge of confidence that swirled in his palm until they coalesced to form a whirling sphere. He held it for a moment, but because holding a _Mouko Takabisha_ in place was much more draining than immediately firing it off, he quickly released it, letting it fall apart and dissipate into the air. “Oh, an’ I know how to invert my center to make my aura cold.” Again he demonstrated, slipping into one of the later stages of the Soul of Ice. Frost began to form on the inside edges of the window, spiderwebbing slowly across the glass. When Konatsu began to shiver, he dropped it.

“You weren't kidding, were you?” She giggled. “Okay, so you definitely know a lot, but how much can you do with your ki outside of combat?”

He fiddled mindlessly with the string of his apron. “I mean, the _Shi Shi Houkoudan_ was some kinda civic engineerin’ thing at first, and you can use the Soul of Ice to keep down your emotions an’ all, but… ki ain't much good for stuff that ain't fightin’.”

She nodded. “You're right, most ki isn't. As far as everyday things go, the hot ki most high-level martial artists rely on is too destructive and unstable, and the cold ki you use is, um, probably too repressive?” At his non-committal shrug, she continued. “Anyways, the _Split-Body_ technique isn't built on either of those. It uses what I call warm ki, which is just the natural state of ki in living things.”

That warranted a raised brow from him. “I know a doc that uses it for medical stuff, but I haven't heard of anyone usin’ it for more than that.”

Though she never broke her impeccable seiza, she somehow seemed to grow more and more animated as she spoke, as though her body was only barely able to contain the enthusiasm bubbling within. “That's usually the only thing it's used for, speeding up the body’s natural healing processes and all, but there's so much more you can do with it! I mean, just the auras alone are useful enough.”

Despite being discomforted some by the idea that he'd been missing out on an entire category of techniques built on the most basic form of ki simply because he'd never thought to explore its potential himself, he was now thoroughly attentive to her words, already trying to imagine the possibilities. “Yeah? What kinda auras?”

Her lips curled up playfully as she said, “Watch, you're going to love this!”

Before he could roll his eyes, the room was suddenly flooded by her ki as it saturated the air with its soft, sunlight yellow hue. He immediately noticed its similarity to the one she'd used earlier, but now that he was experiencing it outside of the _Umisenken_ , he could actually process the feeling she was radiating. It was a sentiment he wasn't sure he had words for, something akin to sprawling out onto his futon, sitting in front of the space heater in his room, or letting fingers run over his scalp. He found himself overcome with the urge to lose himself in the warmth, more satiating than food, more compelling than thirst.

And then, just as quickly as it had been summoned, the aura disappeared, leaving a disoriented Ranma to try and regain himself in the aftermath. He realized just a moment too late that, at some point, he'd risen to his feet, and his legs, suddenly as sturdy as melted butter, gave way, dropping him to his knees in a sloppy parody of Konatsu’s position. Before his instability could fell him further, she rushed to secure her hands on his shoulders and keep him largely upright. “Ranma!” she cried, “Ranma, I'm really sorry, I didn't know- I mean, maybe I was showing off a little, but no one's ever reacted like _that,_ and-”

He interrupted her by once more adopting the Soul of Ice, causing her to unconsciously snatch her hands back. The frost on the window experienced a brief resurgence until he regained his composure, letting the room's previous temperature reassert itself. He bit out an, “I'm fine,” then quipped, “Man, you really live up to your name, huh?” When that only got him an uneasy chuckle, he asked, in as conversational a tone as he could summon, “So how the hell didja even do that? I mean, how do you access that kinda ki in the first place? ‘Cause I don't think it's anything like invertin’ your center or just puttin’ a damper on a battle aura or I'd’a stumbled into it myself by now.”

Though traces of worry and guilt still simmered in her eyes, Konatsu once more donned a calm expression, reentering seiza. “Well, it's less about what you do with your center, and more about how you get to it.”

“Didn't know that made much of a difference.”

“Usually it doesn't. Most of the time, the point of finding it is the last part, reaching the center itself, but what people don't realize is that when you're tracing your pathways backwards to find it, you're opening them up too. So, once you get there, your ki is gonna flow out strongest through those same pathways.”

“Alright, then which ones do you gotta use to bring it out warm?”

She pursed her lips. “I'm kind of… not sure? I mean, I can do it myself, but I've never really put it into words. It's… it's a bit like the way most people use their ki every day, when they laugh or dance or hug. You have to get a sense for how those expressions come out in you so you can follow the paths they take more easily.”

Ranma nodded slowly. “An’ that's what the meditation’s for?”

“Well,” she said, gesturing vaguely, “that's half of it, but I think we should get to that after you're used to the ki aspect. For now, just try to concentrate on the things that bring out that sort of feeling in you.”

His brow furrowed. Her nebulous instructions gave him about as solid a jumping-off point as a diving board made of rice paper. He knew it was through no fault of her own; the metaphysical nature of ki as a concept made instructing much more of an art than an exact science, but it still left him with the dilemma of how to begin. “How ‘bout you, what do you think of?”

A bittersweet smile graced her features. “Memories of… of my mother. Of singing with her.”

He didn't ask any more questions.

For what felt like days, Ranma meditated, searching his memories for anything that might work. More than once he stumbled onto a moment that churned up something close to what he was looking for: eating ice cream with his favorite toppings, getting his hair cut by Kasumi, spending time with Ukyou and Ryouga before he came to Nerima, and the rare occasions when he'd inadvertently brought out Akane’s most dazzling smile. But then, each time he tried to follow that feeling to its source, it slipped right through his fingers. He grew more and more frustrated with each attempt, feeling as though he were hanging from the branches of a tree, trying to make his way from the edge to the trunk and down to the roots, losing his grip each time the branch became too wide for his hands to fit around and falling back down to square one.

Not for the first time, he silently cursed his father for denying him any memories of his own mother. Though he knew that dearth could not be the reason behind his repeated failures, and though he knew Konatsu’s luck in the parental department was about as bad as his own (if not worse), he couldn't help but envy her for having known her mother at all.

He was eventually pulled from his meditative state by the sound of the door to the stairwell opening, followed by a cry of “Ran-chan!” He opened his eyes, first seeing Konatsu, curled up on the floor in front of him with her eyes closed and a hint of drool in the corner of her mouth, then turned to see Ukyou in the doorway, her face lit up like she'd just unwrapped every birthday present she asked for.

“Hey Ucchan, heard ya needed a hand.” He turned back to the girl across from him. “Uh… is she alright?”

“Oh, her?” she said, crossing the room. “Don't worry your sweet head about her, Ran-chan, she’ll be fine. She just needs a nap once in a while.” Crouching, she gently shook the prone waitress by the shoulder. “C’mon Ko-chan, up and attem.”

Konatsu shuddered, then rolled over onto her other side, facing away from the other two and mumbling something that sounded to Ranma like, “Five more minutes, Mama-haha…” before receiving another shake. She yawned and stretched, then scrambled to a sitting position as she realized who had woken her. “Ukyou-sama! I didn't mean to fall asleep again, I'm so sorry!” She bowed deeply.

Ukyou patted her on the back. “Aw, don't worry ‘bout it, sug, a little extra sleep here an’ there’ll probably do ya some good. Now, let's go open up for dinner.” She ruffled Ranma's hair on her way out the door. “You too, hon. And thanks for worryin’ about little ol’ me, we could really use the help.” Just before descending the stairs, she caught his eye and said with a grin, “Knew that tomboy couldn't keep you away from me forever.”

Ranma rolled his eyes as she left, then set about fixing the parts of his fringe she'd mussed up. Interpreting Konatsu’s expression as empathetic concern for him, he said, “Don't worry, I'll tell her ‘bout the trade. Otherwise she’ll just hang on me the whole time I'm here an’ I won't be able to learn nothin’.”

Seeming satisfied by his answer, she rose to her feet. “So how did it go?”

He grimaced. “Not great. Couldn’t get more than halfway down a pathway before somethin’ blocked me. Dunno what I'm doin’ wrong, but I'll work on it.”

“Hmm,” she sounded, a finger on her chin. “Maybe you'd have better luck doing it the other way around?”

“What, like findin’ my center the way I usually do, then tryna shift it to where I want it?”

She looked a bit taken aback by the thought. “Is that really possible for…? Um, anyways, no, I meant you could try to express the feelings you're looking for. It's easier to follow if you're focusing on your ki while you use it.”

“Makes sense. I guess I could do that while I work, yeah? Just… act all friendly with the customers an’ whatever?”

“If you can concentrate on all of that at the same time, then sure! It can't all be an act, though; I don't think it'll work unless it's at least partially genuine, you know?”

He waved off her concern. “C’mon, I'm the biggest people person there is.” When she had to bring a hand up to stifle a giggle, he said, “Hey, look, all those people tryna kill me don't count, okay?” When that only served to send her into a genuine giggle fit, he threw up his hands and headed for the stairs, half-heartedly grumbling as her voice followed him through the doorway.

Now that business was booming, the job was much more like the one he'd had at the Nekohanten than the time he'd filled in at Ucchan’s. Greet the customers, sit them down. Take their orders down on the little paper pad, hang the tags up behind the counter for Ukyou. Catch the airborne okonomiyaki when she calls out table numbers, serve to the right table. Give them the bill, check them out at the register. Wash, rinse, and repeat, all while acting the part of the sweet, innocent waitress. It was a role he played easily enough, given his experience, which gave his multitasking capabilities the leeway to closely observe the tiny spikes of ki he used every time he conjured up a friendly smile or complimented a customer.

Most of the people he served responded in kind to his warmth, giving him more to work with, though he certainly had his fair share of problem diners. One such customer, an older man with a loose grey ponytail as limp and flat as his expression insisted on getting a table to himself by the door, ordered an okonomiyaki with no toppings at all, and spoke to him with an irritatingly condescending tone, when he did speak at all. Another, a girl he recognized as a regular, having seen her multiple times in her favored spot at one end of the counter studying textbooks as she ate, gave him odd and unfriendly looks whenever he approached her. He didn't quite know what to make of her attitude until he realized she'd likely seen him drop by to get some hot water once or twice and knew about his curse, and probably thought him a freak for it just like everyone else. On top of it all, there were the men who took his job-required kindness as an invitation to leer at his body while he spoke or mutter degrading things about him as he passed.

By the end of the night, one such group still remained, gathered around the table tucked away in the far corner and chattering loudly even when they were the only customers left. Though they were in Konatsu’s section and Ranma hadn't even spoken to them once, he'd continually caught one or more of the four staring at him, sometimes whispering and snickering amongst one another as they did. When 15 minutes had passed since the restaurant had officially closed and they were still there, Konatsu approached him, practically radiating stress and asking for his help in kicking them out, something he figured she was probably too habitually obliging to handle herself. He set the dirty platters he'd been carrying down on the counter and walked up to the offending party, doing his best to ignore the looks they were giving him.

He put on his best placating smile and said, with a cutesy lilt and more politeness than they deserved, “Hi fellas, sorry to interrupt but we did close a little while ago, so I'm gonna hafta ask ya to head home, okay?”

The boy sitting closest to where Ranma stood, who wore a windbreaker that may have been the least appealing shade of green he'd ever seen, gave him a grin that made him want to punch his lights out before saying, “Wow Saotome, you really have gone girl, huh?”

Ranma froze, suddenly realizing why this group of boys had looked a bit familiar. They were members of Furinkan’s kendo team, underlings of Idiot King Kunou himself and former regulars of the horde of perverts that once spent every morning harassing Akane. He immediately dropped his work persona, scrunching his eyes shut and rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “Dammit. Look, I ain't ‘gone girl’ or nothin’, alright? I'm just doin’ this to learn a new technique.”

While Ranma’s eyes were still closed, windbreaker boy said, “Oh, why didn't you say so? I'm sure the guys and I could teach you some real fun _techniques_ ,” then pinched his rear through the cloth of his kimono.

Ranma let out a high-pitched “Eep!” before flaring out a visible battle aura, jolting wildly around him like lightning, staining the air as red as his cheeks. Compared to what he was capable of, it was hardly impressive, but it still made the space crackle angrily with power, which was usually enough to cow non-ki-users. “Hands off, asshole!”

The other three at the table shrunk back in their seats, now looking far less eager to harass him, but other than flinching his hand back, the first boy stood his ground, still smirking snidely. “Come on, Ranma- _chan_ , I know you haven't actually beat on anyone at school but Kunou and his batshit dad in months, not even when there's an-” here he waggled his eyebrows for emphasis “-’accident’ in the showers. I'm starting to wonder if you actually _like_ giving the guys a show.” That seemed to reinvigorate the others some and they sounded off a chorus of jeering ‘Oooooo!’s.

His aura flaring out further, Ranma opened his mouth to retort, but before he could, a fist interjected, slamming into the side of windbreaker boy’s head and sending him sprawling out of his seat and onto the floor.

Ukyou glared down at the boy as he struggled to reorient himself, then looked each of the others in the eye, saying with overt malice, “Get out and stay out, or I'll shove spatulas so far up each’a your asses your shits’ll come out grilled. Got it?”

The three still seated nodded slowly, then, moving with the caution of prey in the presence of a predator, rose to their feet and made their way past the two of them. One tried to help windbreaker boy up, but he angrily smacked his hand away before getting up himself and following the others. Before he was out the door, he groused, just loud enough for them to hear, “Come on guys, there's too many fucking queers working here anyways.”

As the sounds of their footfalls disappeared into the night, Ranma reigned himself in, coiling his aura back into his center tightly, then calmed his emotional state and chastised himself for losing control.

Konatsu, who'd been watching from behind the counter, approached him, her expression meek and her voice strained. “I'm so sorry Ranma, I didn't know they'd be like that to you, I should have been able to handle it on my own.”

“S’fine, don't worry ‘bout it,” he said, almost mumbling. “Ain't much worse than what I get at school anyways, or from Pops for that matter.”

Konatsu gave Ukyou a look as if to ask, ‘Really?’ and out of the corner of his eye he saw her nod in response, lips a thin frown. At that Konatsu looked back at him with empathy and a touch of pity, which he definitely didn't like.

Ukyou broke up the cold silence. “Ran-chan, what did he mean about the showers?”

He sighed. He'd hoped she hadn't been present long enough to hear that. “It's nothin’.”

Ukyou’s raised brows and lidded eyes told him just how much she believed that.

“Fine,” he snapped, folding his arms under his chest. His gaze fixed itself off to the side, away from theirs. “...Sometimes, when I'm changin’ for gym or showerin’ or whatever, one of the guys’ll try an’ splash me with a water bottle or turn the shower cold while I'm in it to get a look at me. Didn't used to happen so much when I could still knock ‘em around a bit for it, but lately they've been figurin’ out when they can get away with it.”

Though he couldn't see their faces, he could still feel their auras, even as he tried to block them out. Ukyou’s simultaneously seethed with fury and flickered with concern, and after a quiet moment, she embraced him. He'd already been all but frozen up before she wrapped her arms around him, but when he realized there was no romantic intent from her this time, he gave no resistance. She released him and headed into the kitchen, muttering about vengeful castrations and people tripping around open windows.

As he went back behind the counter to retrieve the platters he'd set down, Konatsu asked him, “But… I don't understand, how can they get away with it? I mean, you're the strongest person I know.”

He turned his head to meet her eyes and said, “Exactly,” then slipped behind the service curtain himself.


	4. Quiet Life

The gentle light of dawn spread over the dojo grounds patiently, its progress impeded only by the occasional tree as well as the building itself, which cut a line of shade across the koi pond, dividing its waters into halves. On the sunlit side, blades of horsetail sprouting from the inner edge bent under the weight of morning dew, spilling droplets sporadically and sending delicate ripples across the surface. The light brought out the colorations of the pond’s inhabitants, highlighting each lazily swimming instant of milky white, rich black, and bright red and gold. In contrast, the shadowed side obscured their forms, only occasionally betraying a muted glimpse of one tone or another. The ripples either did not reach this half or were simply not big enough to be visible without any sunlight to refract, giving it a sense of tepid stillness.

From his spot on the engawa that connected the family room to the yard, Ranma let his eyes linger on the darkened waters as he contemplated the task Konatsu had given him after the end of his shift. Now that he was getting a handle on the basics of this ‘warm’ ki, he needed to approach the second step: finding something to guide his meditation for when he chose a material focus. He'd hoped a night’s sleep would allow him to approach the issue with new eyes, but it'd been half an hour already since he was jolted awake by one of his usual nightmares and his eyes were about as figuratively unseeing as they'd been before. As he squinted at the pond, glimpsing the fish as clearly as his options, he wished he'd had the foresight to ask Konatsu for advice, though part of him knew that even if she were standing right in front of him in that moment his reluctance to ever ask for help would likely hold his tongue.

His fruitless brainstorming was soon interrupted by Akane approaching from his right, stray hairs catching the sunlight, skin glowing a bit with sweat. “There you are,” she said, her voice weighted by a hint of labored breath, “I thought you'd be in the dojo by now.” She gave him a half-serious look of warning. “Don't tell me you're giving up on me after one day of training.”

Unfolding his legs, he stood, stretching his arms out in front of him and loosening up his shoulders. “Naw, just thought we could do somethin’ different today is all. Somethin’ we don't need the dojo for.”

“Yeah?” Raising a brow, she stepped up onto the porch, moving past him as she spoke. “Oh! You're gonna have me walk on fences like you do, right?”

He followed. “C’mon ‘Kane, give me givin’ you credit, uh… more credit.”

She stopped in her tracks, just a few steps from the kitchen. “What?”

“You know what I mean. Walkin’-”

“I really don't.”

“Walkin’ on fences,” he said, ignoring her, “is the easy part, the tricycle to the bicycle, and you don't need any trainin’ wheels. We're puttin’ ya on the bike.”

She blinked, then shook her head. “I’m- I’m so confused right now. Are you gonna make me _bike_ on fences? Like, Shampoo-style?”

“What? No, I'm taking-”

A voice from behind him, grouchy and gruff with sleep, interjected. “Whatever you two are arguing about, take it somewhere else.”

When Ranma shifted to one side of the hall, Nabiki, her face scrunched up like some grumpy old curmudgeon’s, trudged past him and Akane into the kitchen, where she began to fiddle sluggishly with the coffee maker. He’d halfway opened his mouth to say something snarky about what unscrupulous activities may have kept her up late last night when his mind registered the chunky black headphones covering her ears, connected by wire to a small device clipped to her hip that just barely peeked out from under her oversized sweater.

Noticing what he was looking at, Akane said, “Oh, yeah, she can't hear you at all. She's been using that Walkman every morning since she got it, probably so no one can bug her while she's still recovering from the horrors of waking up.”

He frowned. “How’d I not notice that before?”

She shrugged. “Maybe you're just always too busy dealing with your dad. Or maybe you just weren't paying any attention.” A teasing smile played at the corners of her lips. “You can be a bit of a space case sometimes, you know.”

For as much as his pride demanded he argue against the descriptor, he knew his tendency to get lost in his own head was too oft-observed to deny, especially to someone that’d shared a classroom with him. “Whatever. Anyways, forget about the bikes, we're not doin’ anything with bikes. Today, you an’ I are goin’ roofhopping.”

Her face lit up at that. “Oh! Sounds fun. I'd think the fences would be harder than rooftops, though, right?”

“If we were just doin’ it for balance practice then yeah, but roofhopping tests your footwork an’ endurance too. It's three kinds of training in one.” Unmentioned went the fact that, though aerial training was more in line with the Saotome School of Anything Goes than the low-to-the-ground Tendou School, these aspects were still fundamental for practitioners of both styles, as well as great exercise in general.

Akane nodded. “That makes sense. So, where are we hopping to?”

“Well, usually I just do laps around the ward, but if we're gonna do some serious training we could pass through Suginami an’ Nakano too.”

“Nakano, huh?” The two of them turned to see Nabiki leaning against the doorframe, arms folded, headphones around her neck, expression perfectly casual despite the dead tired look in her eyes. The white noise of the coffee machine accompanied her words the way forest insects buzzing backdrops wild bird calls. “I could go for a little shopping. Got room for a third wheel?”

Akane quietly murmured, “Again with the wheels…” earning a curious glance from her sister, then said, “I mean, I wouldn't mind you being with us, but, um, I don't think you heard us say how we were getting there.”

A wide grin split Ranma's cheeks. “Actually, I think we can work somethin’ out.” Before either Tendou had enough time to ask what he had in mind, he asked Nabiki, “By the way, where do they, like… sell those?” He gestured to the device on her hip.

Looking irritatingly amused, she replied, “This little box is probably worth more than anything you've ever owned, Saotome. I could tell you, but I seriously doubt you've got forty thousand yen burning a hole in your pocket.”

Ranma frowned. Ukyou had offered to pay him out of the register after each of his shifts, so between that and his tips he did have some spending money, but not much more than ten thousand yen. By the time he could afford one of his own, he'd probably have found something else.

He was ready to give up on the idea when Akane spoke. “You know, when she got that she gave me her old CD player.” She shrugged. “You could use that if you want, I don't really touch it much. Might want to get some albums of your own, though.”

His brows rose, half with surprise and half with clumsily-expressed appreciation. “Uh, yeah, sure. Thanks.”

He was only able to tear his eyes away from the smile she gave in return when Nabiki spoke up. “Alright, so we'll stop by a CD store while we're in the area. I've been meaning to pick up some new cassettes anyways, so this works out fine.

“Now,” she said, arching a brow, “how are we getting there?”

The moment Akane’s feet touched solid ground again, her knees buckled, forcing a queasy-looking Nabiki to make a gracelessly hasty dismount from her piggyback position. Letting out a long, low groan of relief, Akane collapsed forward onto the pavement, taking up a significant portion of the ground in the slim alley Ranma had led them to. Nabiki, in her efforts to reclaim her balance, stumbled to the side of one of the surrounding buildings and propped herself up against it, the straps of her backpack only barely staying on her shoulders through all the movement. She glared up at him with equal parts contempt and nausea and said, in a tone that left no room for argument, “When we're done here, I'm taking the train back.”

Akane remained prone for a bit, torso heaving with breath, one deeply flushed cheek resting against the cool black ground. When she finally spoke, it sounded like each word she wheezed out was a punch to the gut. “Wh-aah, hah, why, hah, hah…” She licked her lips and swallowed. “Why was, hah, that so, hah, _hard?_ "

Ranma leaned over her, smiling smugly. “Runnin’ on rooftops is one thing, an’ carryin’ someone while you run is another, but doin’ them both at the same time is somethin’ completely different. You gotta keep your balance an’ land the jumps with a bunch of extra weight on ya tryna make you slip up.” He made a little gesture with one hand despite the fact that she couldn't see him. “More’n some of the parts an’ all.”

With another little groan she began to pull herself up, which was a particularly unpleasant task if her expression was anything to go on. “The sum of its parts, dummy.”

“That's what I said, ain't it?”

On her feet again, she rolled her eyes. “Yup. Exactly right.” She pinched the folds of her dogi and fanned herself lightly. “Kami, I'm so sweaty. You did bring that change of clothes, right, sis?”

Nabiki thumbed a shoulder strap. “Mhm. Now c’mon, let's get your sweat off both of us. There's a bathhouse right across the street.” The two of them made for the mouth of the alley and were just about to disappear into the throngs of passersby in the main thoroughfare when Nabiki peeked over her shoulder. “You coming or what, Saotome?”

He waved her off. “I do this stuff all the time, it'll take more than that to make me sweat.” He leaned back against a wall and shoved his hands into his pockets. “‘Sides, I’m, uh, not big on public bathin’. I'll just wait for you here.”

After a second she mouthed a silent “ah” and nodded, leading Akane into the crowds.

Ranma, having decided to stay put where he was, began to probe the pathways he’d exercised the night before, pulsing small bursts of warm ki through them in an effort to better understand their contours and kinks. He'd gotten the idea from a medical technique he’d once overheard Dr. Toufuu explain to a patient wherein a substance that showed up in x-rays was injected into the bloodstream to allow for precise mapping of one’s veins. His inexperience with these particular pathways made the process a bit of a clumsy, feel-as-you-go deal, but his efforts were not without fruit, rewarding him slowly with the fine details of his life essence’s inner workings.

As his mind and center were occupied, his body fidgeted restlessly, feet tapping to no particular beat, arms uncrossing and then recrossing moments later. At one point, he witnessed a young man just outside the alley attempt to impress the girl he was talking to by rolling a five yen coin across the tops of his fingers, and he spent the next few minutes unconsciously imitating the motions with his own hand until he noticed he was doing it. He stilled himself and did his best to stay that way, succeeding for a whole thirty seconds of unaccompanied meditation before his hand started smacking lightly on his thigh.

Eventually, as he became more and more immersed in his tests, his eyelids drooped downward, a currently unnecessary sense being filtered out to allow more complete focus on the task at hand. No sooner had they closed completely than he felt a sudden splash of something cold dousing his hair, accompanied by the tingling change of his curse. His eyes snapped open, head swiveling left and right in search of danger, but in the end all he found was a nearly emptied water bottle lying a few feet away, offering no explanation for the inconvenience other than his typical bizarre and sour luck. He raised his gaze to the strip of clear, calm sky visible within the frame of the alley’s upper borders and scowled at it, silently cursing the world's inability to leave him be.

Before returning to his meditation, though, he gave a quick concessionary thanks for the fact that no one had been paying enough attention to his secluded spot to see the change. Being read as a girl in public was emotionally destabilizing in a way he didn't have words for, but the reactions he got from people unfamiliar with his curse seeing it in action were exponentially worse.

His dourness was further dispersed by his accelerating rate of progress in plumbing his metaphysical depths. Almost as soon as he'd readopted his observations, he found himself advancing through pathways at a much more rapid pace than before. He allowed himself a small smile; he was evidently learning even faster than usual. If his current success was anything to go on, he'd have no trouble perfecting Konatsu’s technique by the end of the week. He was even producing enough warmth to dry his hair some, a fact he was pleasantly surprised to note. His hair frequently got soaked, and trying to use battle auras to rectify that always made it frizz up like crazy, so an option that didn't make him look like either a bloodsoaked mop or an angry cloud was more than welcome.

His locks were almost completely dry by the time Akane and Nabiki returned, both of them sweat-free and dressed in fresh, crisp outfits. Neither said anything about his change of forms, though for whatever reason Nabiki gave him a quick look that made him feel like a bug under a microscope. She led the two of them through the throngs to the Sun Mall shopping street, whose arched glass covering let the day's light shine on the stores while making the sounds of conversation and commerce echo back slightly, giving the lane a unique feel that straddled the border between outside and inside.

They entered a two-story shop stocked end to end with CDs from all sorts of artists, almost none of whom Ranma recognized in any capacity. A few sets of headphones, each accompanied by a stack of copies of the album they were evidently playing, lined one wall, a counter with a bored-looking clerk reading a magazine sat against the other, and a cramped stairwell took up a good portion of the back of the store.

Nabiki headed for the lattermost, telling the other two, “They keep all the tapes and records on the second floor, so I'll be there while you two go wild down here. And by ‘go wild’ I mean ‘don't you dare go the slightest bit wild’ because I'm not forking up any cash if some foreign prince or something attacks and you tear this place up. Got it?” At their nods she disappeared up the steps.

Akane began searching specific sections, apparently having a clear idea of what to look for, while Ranma, with no such clue, simply combed the rows for anything he at all recognized. Many of the artists he'd heard of, though, he'd heard of from Akane, and he didn't want to buy redundant copies of albums she probably already owned, so that guideline was out the window. He was at even more of a loss than he'd been when he walked in until he remembered how much Hiroshi and Daisuke talked about music around him.

He mentally slapped himself, wondering how he could have possibly forgotten the way those two would go on and on and on, particularly in regards to the various roots and branches of rock. Most every lunch period spent with them inevitably descended into a debate about whether this band was better/more influential/more innovative than that band, or the merits of one obscure sub-genre over another (he still wasn't sure what post-punk actually entailed), or even what quirks made a guitar’s texture qualify as “crunchy”. He had no idea what any of it meant, and he tended to tune out their impassioned jargon volleys anyways, but he had picked up a couple of names by sheer osmosis. One was a recent favorite of Hiroshi’s and the other a deep-seated favorite of Daisuke’s, both of which they talked endlessly about. A few minutes of trawling through jewel cases later and he had an album by each in his hands: Fishmans’ _King Master George_ and Friction’s _Dumb Numb_.

Feeling minorly accomplished for having actually found something, he scanned the room to see if Nabiki was done upstairs yet, but found her absent. Akane was still inspecting the store's selection herself, so, having no more specific artists to fall back on, he decided to take his chances with the albums available for sampling. The headphones, whose cables disappeared into small holes in the wooden counter where they assumedly connected to some high-end player, were a little too big for his cursed form’s head, even after adjustment, so he had to hold one side up to prevent them from slipping off the tops of his ears.

The first album on the lineup, _The Swinging Star_ , proved to be something of a bust. He liked the horn parts, and as far as he could tell it was all performed well enough, but there was an overpolished feel to everything that put him off, the same sort of unnatural precision that kept him from watching much TV. The goofy cover didn't help much either. He moved on to the next set of headphones, and found its offering to be an improvement on the first, if not anything immediately grabbing. He found himself enjoying the harmonies of the two vocalists, whom he assumed to be Chage and Aska themselves, and was almost considering adding a copy to his small stack when they suddenly switched to English for the words, “CAT WALK!”

Though Ranma's English skills were somewhat lacking, he knew the word “cat” in a multitude of languages, and it took a significant amount of self-control to reign in his instinctual reaction to the point where he merely threw the headphones back down onto the counter instead of obliterating them against the wall. The impact still made a lot of noise, and he had to meet Akane’s startled and concerned eyes and gesture placatively with both hands to assure her that everything was fine, though to his surprise the clerk hadn't even looked up from his magazine.

He was far more cautious about putting the third pair of headphones on, the hand holding them up braced for the potential of a repeat incident, but as he began to listen, his focus on motor functions started to take a back seat to his auditory senses. It wasn't any one aspect that drew him in so much as it was each part of the whole: the spirited drum fills and steady basslines, the flavorful keyboard backing and bright, spacey guitar licks, and atop it all the engaging and emotive contralto of the vocalist. He only realized he'd listened through a whole track when it ended and the next one started up. He also noticed that at some point he'd unconsciously centered himself and was currently radiating just a touch more warmth than that of his usual body heat. As the newest verse began, he was once again distracted, losing track of time as one verse became two and a chorus, then a second full song, then a third, then a fourth. It was when a tom roll was heralding the start of a fifth that Akane tapped him on the shoulder to let him know she and Nabiki were ready to leave. He told her he'd check out what he had and meet them outside, and when she was out the door he slipped a copy of Takeuchi Mariya’s _Quiet Life_ into the bottom of his stack.

Plastic bags in hand, the three of them visited a second shop whose purpose and demographic were unclear to the point of being baffling. The shelves were lined floor-to-ceiling with all manner of household consumables, from grooming products to cleaning supplies to oddball candies and snacks, with seemingly little regard for the proximity of edible items to dangerously inedible items.

Deciding not to risk confusing particularly colorful rat poison pellets for eccentric candy or any such mix-up, he approached the most innocuous section he could find: the scented candles. He absently picked them up one by one to sniff, less interested in the particulars of their aromas than their potential for covering up the overwhelming stench of cheap sake his father carried home so many nights.

Akane periodically asked him or Nabiki (whoever was closest to her at the moment) to give their opinion on the soaps she was trying to decide between. Switching from smelling candles to soaps to candles so often began to temporarily overload his ability to process artificial scents, and after the third time he stopped her and said, “Look, why does it matter so much which one ya choose? They all, like, _clean_ an’ everything, right?”

She gave him a look like he’d just admitted to putting in toilet paper rolls with the end facing the wall. She gesticulated as she spoke, a bar of soap still in each hand. “What do you mean? It matters because it matters, alright? It's what you're going to smell like all day, after all. Don't you smell your soap before you buy it?”

“Didn't used to. When we were on the road I always just ended up smellin’ like whatever stream I washed in. An’ these days I usually get the unscented stuff, ‘cause most of the other kinds are too strong.”

She lowered the soaps she was holding slightly. “Well… there's softer scents too, you know. You could get some of the natural kinds.” Then she added, sardonically, “Maybe they'll even smell like all your favorite streams.”

“I guess.”

He turned back to the candles, moving on to a section that seemed to be largely homemade, or at least carefully designed to look that way. He found these to be a little more pleasant (and a lot less cloying) than the others, though they were significantly more pricey. Eventually, he came upon one of leafy green wax whose scent was oddly familiar to him. When he figured out the connection his brain was trying to make, he returned to Akane’s side, placed it near her nose, grinned, and said, “Hey, sniff this.”

She obliged, then said, “Yeah, something like that would work, if it were a soap.”

“Naw, naw, I mean- what does this remind you of?” He moved the candle back under her nose expectantly.

She arched a brow at him but sniffed again. “Um… you, when you come back from a training trip?”

“Ugh, no, not enough second-hand wet panda stink. It's Ryouga!”

Her brow furrowed. Again, she sniffed. “I mean… maybe? I don't usually, um, smell Ryouga. Is that what Akari’s farm is like?”

Ranma scoffed “He can barely make it there enough for her pigs to recognize him. Naw, it's ‘cause it smells like he usually does when he comes back from bein’ lost, like firewood an’ weird plants an’ all. It’s even got some of that, uh, dirt after rain smell.”

“Petrichor.”

“Yeah, that. It's almost exactly the same, just with less sweat an’ instant ramen.”

She gave him an odd look, said, “I… guess?” then turned back to her soaps, this time sampling two new bars.

After giving the candle one last sniff to assure himself he hadn't just hallucinated the uncanny likeness, he placed it back on the shelf.

The walk to the third shop was a far more arduous one than the previous two had entailed. Nabiki had to lead them down the length of the Sun Mall lane and into Nakano Broadway itself, navigating the maze-like shopping center with practiced ease. At one point, she brought them down to the basement level where most of the food kiosks were located, and Ranma’s imagination began to go wild with all the delectable possibilities, inspired by the saline aroma of fish and the various hints of seasonings. He was seconds away from asking her what sort of food she'd led them all that way for when, seemingly out of nowhere, she veered into a set of stairs and took them back to the floor they'd started on. She explained that, given the structure’s almost nonsensical layout, her detour had actually been faster than the most direct path one could take on the first floor alone, but he wasn't fully convinced she hadn't just done it to get back at him for the roofhopping.

Adding insult to injury, their destination turned out to be a clothing boutique, and one of the more popular ones in the building at that. Quiet individuals and small, chatty groups weaved between the circular racks that dotted the shop floor, perused the wall racks and cubbies full of folded articles, and formed a line at the checkout counter that never seemed to drop below five people.

Ranma groaned. He'd almost been able to forget he was in his girl form, but there would be no avoiding it here. If he shopped in the men’s section, he'd get no end of discomforting stares, and he'd be lucky if he didn't get harassed for it at least once or twice. If he shopped in the women's section, Nabiki would tease him endlessly for it and Akane would likely think him even more of a deviant than she already did. His best option was to simply do nothing, and that was exactly what he intended to do.

As happened with so many of his plans, it very quickly fell to pieces. Akane, clearly annoyed at his quiet hovering, eventually faced him and said, “Okay, why are you just following me around? Go look at clothes or something. Maybe you can find new stuff to wear instead of those old silks.”

He glared at her and gestured to his body.

“Yes, I know, but…” She moved to an adjacent rack. “Here, what about jackets? If it starts snowing again you're gonna need one, you know.”

Ranma frowned. As reluctant as he was to admit it, she was right, but he was surprised that she had actually encouraged him to wear clothes made for women. “What, so you can call me a pervert whenever I wear it?”

She didn't quite manage to suppress her wince. “Look, I still think it's kind of weird, but… there's not really a way around it, is there? If it snows, you'll get wet, and if you get wet, you'll need a coat, especially since you're so small like that.” Ignoring the glare he shot back, she continued. “Besides, a lot of these are pretty gender-neutral-looking, so it won't be too… you know.”

He wasn't sure he did know exactly, but he didn't let it show. Instead, he gave her face a searching once-over. “You sure you're the _real_ Akane?”

She fixed him with a deadpan stare.

“Alright, but I'm keeping my eyes on you, ok? If I find a zipper on the back of your neck, you'll have some explainin’ to do.” He turned to the rack of coats, but let his skeptical gaze linger on her for a few seconds, just long enough to see the corners of her feigned scowl start to turn upwards as he looked away.

Soon enough one caught his eye, and he pulled it off the rack to examine more thoroughly. It was all black, save for the soft tuft of light grey faux fur lining the hood, and looked puffy enough to be warm without restricting movement too much. There were pockets on the inside as well as the outside, which he appreciated, and the material was sturdy but not stiff. All in all, it seemed an apt candidate, so he started to take it off its hanger to see how it fit, but was interrupted by Akane’s hand on his arm.

“Wait until you get into a changing room, they have mirrors there.” She looked over his choice. “That'd do. The fur seems a bit much though.”

“Well it comes off, so I don't have to keep it there if I'm not usin’ it.” He turned it around and flipped the hood over the hangar so she could see where a row of buttons attached it just below the collar.

She nodded approvingly. “Yeah, okay. Go try it on.”

They headed to the far end of the store, where an attendant ushered him into the only changing stall still available, then closed the dividing curtain despite the fact that he only had a jacket in hand. From behind the cloth border, Akane told him, “Don't take it off before you get out of there, I want to see too.”

Grunting an affirmative, he began to put it on.

At the same time, Nabiki’s voice sounded. “I call that stall after him. What's he trying on in there, anyways?”

He shrugged it onto his shoulders, immediately noting how soft its interior was despite the hardy exterior. In the floor-length mirror, he could see that the hem reached a few inches below the hip, which was just the right length in his book.

“Just a jacket,” Akane replied. “I had to convince him it'd be fine if he got one for his girl form.”

The hood topped off the look nicely, working in tandem with his bangs to frame his face. The trim made the whole thing especially warm, and he started to wonder if, when school started up again, he could maybe get away with wearing it on the way to class on especially chilly mornings, then finding some hot water when he got there.

“Oh?” Nabiki said, tone tinged with bemusement. “Funny, he's never had qualms about buying women's clothes before.”

Ranma froze. Suddenly, the stall started to feel increasingly claustrophobic. His eyes were locked with his own in the mirror and he was afraid to look away, as though he believed if he refused to move a muscle then the moment would not progress any further either.

Akane’s voice broke his flimsy illusion. “Wh-what?”

“Come on sis, I know you've seen him in enough dresses to put two and two together here. Where do you think he gets them all?”

He pulled the hood off his head and drew closer to the curtain, hoping beyond hope that some overzealous master of an obscure martial art would attack and save him from this conversation.

“I…” Akane trailed off. “I don't know, I thought he usually just borrowed them. I mean, where would he get the money?”

Nabiki scoffed. “They always fit him perfectly, and I don't know anyone else who's simultaneously as short and as busty as Ranma. No way he borrows. And as far as the money goes… Well, you'd be surprised how much the occasional freelance photoshoot can plump up a wallet.” She then directed her voice towards him. “Eh, Saotome?”

Yanking the curtain aside, Ranma leveled a glare at Nabiki and said, letting just enough vitriol into his voice to get his anger across, “You said you wouldn't tell anyone about those!” He folded his arms under his chest. “An’ for your information, I only buy stuff like that when I need to, alright? Don't make it sound like I just go around doin’ it for fun.”

Nabiki, who had several different articles of clothing draped over the arm she was resting on her cocked hip, simply smirked. “I never actually said I wouldn't talk about it, I merely implied that, and you assumed one was as good as the other. And as for your other point, I know you own a Furinkan girl’s uniform; how many times could you have just worn that instead of coming up with a whole new outfit?” She held up her free hand to count on her fingers. “The tennis dress when you were trying to get a technique from the old lech. The club dress when you taught your mirror clone how to pick up boys. When you pretended to be Ryouga’s sister? His _fiancée?_ And don't even get me started on the kimonos, I bet-”

Akane, whose face had been journeying through a multitude of expressions between surprise, discomfort, and confusion, finally settled somewhere in the vicinity of righteous indignation. “That's enough, Nabiki! Leave him alone.”

Without turning her head away from Ranma, Nabiki cast a curious glance towards her sister. “Well, well, if it isn't the fiancée to the rescue. Alright-” she held up her hands concedingly, though the smirk never left her lips “-I can tell when I've overstayed my welcome. I'll leave you two to your devices. And by ‘I'll leave’ I mean ‘you'll leave’ because my train isn't in for another half hour and I have some things of my own to try on.” She squeezed past Ranma into the stall, displacing him from it and, with one last searching look at the two of them, closed the curtain in their faces.

The roof-borne run home was almost entirely silent, a fact Ranma had no idea how to interpret. Akane said not a word about clothes or photoshoots, which both relieved him and made him anxious about the possibility of her temperance being the quiet simmer that preceded a boil. In an effort to settle his nerves, he did his best to focus on the properties of his latest purchase, from the specifics of its range of mobility to the way the faux fur tickled feather-like at his neck when the wind caught it just right.

Upon their arrival to the dojo, she immediately ascended the stairs. He elected to follow, but only after he'd devoured the leftovers of the dinner he'd missed the night before. When he entered his room, he found a surprisingly compact CD player sitting atop the dresser, along with a neatly spooled pair of earbuds. He spent a few minutes fiddling with all the buttons to understand its ins and outs, and in short order was listening to a contralto dance atop a lively rhythm section.

After a handful of tracks, a thought occurred to him. He rose from his futon, taking the CD player with him, and began to rummage through his travel pack until he came across a small wooden box. He dug through the various trinkets, talismans, and keepsakes within until he found a smooth pewter-grey stone, a little larger than a coin and almost as perfectly round. He put everything else away, then returned to his futon, one hand between the back of his head and the pillow, the other rolling the stone across the tops of his fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry y'all, this one took even longer somehow! I'm gonna be pushing myself a lot harder from here on out so, fingers crossed, look forward to more timely postings for subsequent chapters.


	5. Yagura Gakoi

Soap suds drifted lazily across the tiled floor, framing the water that flowed into the drain like spume scrawled across a shoreline. They clung weakly to the gridded lid before being dragged down by the current into the pipes, bound for reservoirs unseen. Akane’s eyes lingered on the trickling bubbles for a moment as she washed herself clean of dirt and soap scum, but she soon reclaimed her focus, setting the empty bucket down and placing her soap bar on its dish. Transferring to the lightly steaming furo, she closed the window to keep the chill out, then submerged herself near-completely in the warmth, slouching so the water enveloped her up to the chin, her hair's tips tickling the surface.

She'd wanted to spend a little more time on her grooming and skincare before soaking, but she knew that if she let herself get lost in preening she wouldn't be able to catch Ranma before he left. She'd meant to speak with him yesterday after the events of their trip to Nakano, even though she'd not yet known what she wanted to say, but by the time she'd made up her mind to try anyway, he was nowhere to be found. That'd been the second time in as many days he'd up and vanished after lunch, not to return until late in the night, and all he’d said when asked was that he'd been out working on a new technique. Given his tendency to find training in nearly anything and everything, attempting to track him down after he'd already left would be as likely to succeed as trying to convince Kunou his poetic abilities were closer to a 4th grader’s than Matsuo Basho’s.

She grimaced at the memories that stray thought dredged up. During her final term of middle school, before her dislike of boys had upgraded itself to outright hatred, she'd tried to do just that. As Tatewaki was already attending Furinkan High by then, having only found out about her through Nabiki, he’d taken to intercepting her on her way to school to recite his overambitious drivel to her. It'd been almost endearing the first time, a touch awkward the second, and completely insufferable by the tenth. Eventually she'd lost track of how many times he'd ignored her claims of disinterest and continued to chip away at her patience, and one morning, having none left, she'd snapped at him, letting him know in no uncertain terms just how little she cared for him and his works.

His response had been to bring a minorly established literary critic with him the next morning to tell her that Tatewaki’s writing was actually incredibly inspired and moving, and that it was only her inexperience with the medium that prevented her from seeing it. She could tell he’d been lying through his teeth even before she'd caught Kunou handing him a wad of cash a block away, but rather than finding amusement in the ridiculousness of the situation, she'd felt deeply unsettled. She'd long realized that gentle letdowns would be insufficient, but she'd assumed once she found it in her to tell Kunou off, he'd finally get the message. That he'd only doubled down in his efforts was more than a little disquieting, and she'd been forced to contemplate just what it would take to get him to discontinue his pursuit of her.

Then he'd learned of her interest in martial arts. Then he'd begun to challenge her skills with his own, as though his overblown ‘prowess’ would somehow endear him to her. Then, once she was attending the same school as him, he'd gotten a sizable portion of its male population involved in the whole fiasco. Each new increment of harassment heaped more and more stress upon her back, like an uncaring storm churning the sea, tossing water onto the deck of a gradually sinking ship. Thankfully the group efforts at least had ceased, but she still remembered the faces of those once involved, still shunned them as best she could without inciting trouble. In return, whenever they passed her in the halls, or when the boys’ gym class was in close proximity to the girls’, they would shoot her these _looks_ \- not quite leering, not quite glaring, but something close; a barefaced, dehumanizing stare that at times seemed to carry all manner of inconcrete hostilities.

As upsetting as their passive-aggression was, though, she'd at least expected as much from them. The same could not be said of the growing number of other girls that'd begun to resent her for the way she treated said boys. She could almost understand the perspectives of the first-years among them, as by the time they'd joined the student body the worst of the “challenges” were long past, but the second- and third-years that concurred absolutely baffled her. How they could have witnessed what she'd gone through, what those boys had put her through, every day for over a _month,_  and still come away thinking _she_ was in the wrong for giving them the cold shoulder was beyond her.

She huffed, disturbing the steam that'd been steadily building up in the room. Her brow had begun to physically hurt from how hard she was creasing it. She sank her head beneath the water, watching the bubbles trail from her nostrils to the surface as her thoughts stewed.

When she returned to her room, she noted that the carnation in the slender vase atop her shelved headboard looked a touch dried out. She made a mental note to pick up a replacement soon, then turned her attentions to the task of selecting an outfit.

Her search for Ranma, or at least confirmation of either his presence or departure, led her on an uneventful and fruitless tour of each of the other upstairs bedrooms. Though the door to the guest room was open, neither Saotome was present. Her sisters’ rooms proved similarly empty. Akane figured Kasumi was likely spending time at Toufuu’s clinic again, but Nabiki could easily still be home, so she headed downstairs, half-expecting either her or Ranma to be there.

Instead, she found the family room empty in multiple aspects, cleared even of any telling signs of use. The table was devoid of breakfast’s crumbs, the magazines and newspapers were neatly stacked atop the freestanding cabinet, and if a speck of dust remained in the tokonoma tucked into the corner, it did not show. She offhandedly figured Kasumi must have cleaned up before leaving. The only detail that seemed out of place was that the sliding door to the engawa stood open just a crack, allowing the acrid smell of tobacco smoke to waft inside.

That gave her pause. Her father rarely indulged in the habit anymore, lapsing only when his responsibilities to the Nerima Community and Culture council began to pile up, or during the second half of April. As the latter was months away and he'd not been called to attend any meetings lately, he was either slipping back into the addicted use that tinted so many of her early memories of him or experiencing far more stress than usual, and both possibilities caused worry to coil in her gut.

She slid the door open to find him sitting cross-legged by the engawa’s edge, looking out over the pond with faraway eyes. She'd caught him in the middle of a pull, so when he registered her presence he ended it prematurely, turning to the ashtray on his other side to put his half-finished cigarette out and politely release the smoke where it wouldn't get on her, letting it drift away on the breeze. He turned back to her with a warm smile. “Hello, Akane-chan.”

She returned his smile, though hers was slightly tempered by concern. “Hi, Dad. Have you seen Ranma?”

His eyes sparkled with the same glint he got whenever she mentioned Ranma in any way that wasn't explicitly negative. “Ah, he left a little while ago. Didn't say where he was off to, but he did head in the direction of your school. Maybe you'll find him there.”

She sighed. “I doubt it. I think the only good memories he's got associated with it are from when he dozes off in class. He's probably just… throwing around ki in some park or something.”

“Well, you never know, it might be worth it to check.” He broke eye contact for a moment as a distant flock of birds caught his attention, trailing westward ahead of the clouds that were slowly rolling in. “I don't suppose he's said anything about where his father might be, hm?”

Akane frowned slightly. “No, I don't think so.” She paused. “Why do you ask? Do you think he's mixed up in something bad, with this whole Naito thing and all?” A jolt of fear ran down her spine. “You don't think he's gonna bring back the old pervert to train Ranma, do you?”

Her father shuddered. “No, no, nothing like that. He'd never willingly bring the Master back, neither of us would. I only…” He trailed off for a moment, then lowered his head and chuckled. “Well, it sounds silly, but I keep pulling out the shogi board and setting up all the pieces before I realize I have no one to play with right now.” Looking up at her, he arched a curious brow. “Why do you think Saotome’s mixed up in something?”

Her first impulse was to scoff and say, “When isn't he,” but something in her father's disposition muzzled that thought. Instead she settled on, “I don't know, just… Ranma seemed to think there was something he wasn't telling us, and, well, it wouldn't be the first time, right?”

He chuckled. “That's true. Knowing him, it'll turn out he forgot to mention they were masters of martial arts track and field, or that he stole some priceless heirloom of theirs when he and Ranma were on the road. Whatever it is, though, I'm sure your fiancé can handle it.”

Her brow furrowed. “Why is it always up to Ranma to clean up after his dad?”

His smile turned strained. “You know how he is, dear. His first instinct in the face of a problem has always been to run. I don't think life on that trip helped with that, either.”

Akane leaned back against the wooden post that framed the doorway, watching the wind patiently drape the sky in grey. “Dad, don't take this the wrong way or anything, but… why are you friends with Genma?” When he hesitated to answer she was nearly overcome by the urge to start listing off the man's many unfavorable qualities - not the least of which being his avarice, his cowardice, and his at best unsavory treatment of Ranma - but again, she held her tongue, allowing her father space to think over the question.

His smile faded, giving way to some saturnine and somber expression that seemed to age him beyond his years. For a moment he appeared to be less Tendou Soun, her father, and more simply Soun, a person as vulnerable and small as any other. His words left his throat slowly and carefully. “What Saotome and I… what we went through, under the Master… we endured it together. The hardest years of my life, and he was by my side the whole time. I will admit he has, well, more than his share of faults, especially when it comes to Ranma, but… the bond we formed back then is not an easy one to break.”

His answer surprised her. She'd known that they'd both trained under Happosai, and she'd seen the tense, guarded way they acted whenever he was around, but she'd been born well after they'd escaped his control and few who knew what kind of a person he was were ever comfortable around him, so until just then she'd not quite realized that her father had likely suffered far more than she knew. She'd also underestimated how hard he leaned on Genma emotionally; the way he talked about him reminded her of how their neighbor spoke of the family members that regularly visited her.

The elderly widow would, in exchange for the various treats Kasumi occasionally enlisted Akane’s help in delivering, regale her with stories about her children or her brother, always with the same contented air about her, as though the very thought of those precious few who were still a part of her life was as much a soothing comfort as settling into a soft bed. Akane had seen in her the way loneliness makes a heart that much more appreciative of those that do stay, that much more desperate to keep them close, and now she saw the same effect made manifest in her father.

Unfortunately, where her neighbor’s family seemed to be an uplifting force in her life, Genma was more along the lines of a crutch, and a shoddy, unreliable one at that. The sum of his ‘contributions’ to her father's emotional well-being included playing games together and encouraging him to drink more, adding up to a grand total of not much.

With all these thoughts storming in her head, she only barely realized she was speaking out loud when she murmured, “Is it worth it, though?”

Immediately, she wished she could stuff the words back into her mouth like they'd never been released, but by then they'd clearly already taken hold in her father's head. His gaze unfocused as his face once more turned away from hers, and an unbearably uncomfortable silence came between them. Eventually, she tried to break the tension with the first thing that came to mind, which ended up being, “Um, do you want to play some shogi?”

The relief she felt when bright excitement sprouted in his expression was almost palpable. She hadn't realized he'd been slouching over until he straightened up, suddenly seeming a completely different person from the one she'd been talking to. “I didn't think you still remembered the rules. You haven't asked to play in years.”

She shrugged. “Well, if Ranma's already gone, I don't really have anything to do, so…”

She expected him to encourage her to try and find Ranma anyways, but to her surprise he merely beamed and said, “I’d love to.”

The two of them re-entered the family room and her father retrieved the board and pieces from the cabinet. As he was setting them up, Akane mentally rushed to compile everything she could recall about the game. She found she could remember how the pieces functioned normally but was uncertain just which pieces could be promoted and what they could be promoted to. Just before he finished placing the tiles, she remembered the practice of joseki and vague structures of the ones he'd taught her, so when he opened with one she was mostly able to compliment it, though from his occasional reactions she could tell she'd made a few missteps along the way.

Over the following turns it became more and more obvious that he was going easy on her. She'd soon gotten invested in the game and was trying her best to look a step or two ahead on each turn, which meant that when her father walked into a simplistic trap or missed out on a potentially devastating play, she could tell he'd done so intentionally. Though she understood his intentions and, on some level, appreciated the sentiment, she couldn't help but be reminded of his reluctance to train her seriously in the Art. Such thoughts ate away at her focus, causing her to make more mistakes, which in turn allowed him further opportunities to baby her, causing the process to cycle until, fed up, she blurted, “Why won't you train me?”

When he froze, startled, she continued. “I know you don't want to hit me. I heard you telling Kasumi that years ago. And before, I could sort of understand. I mean, I was barely a teenager back then, so one hard strike could've messed me up really bad-” here a bit of hurt began to seep into her voice “-but I'm seventeen now! I can take a hit just fine! And I can learn things from other martial artists, but… I wanted to learn from you. I want to carry on the Tendou school. I don't even know what our family techniques are.”

For a long, grueling moment he was quiet, his face a passive mask. When he spoke again, it was through a bittersweet smile. “You're so much like your mother, you know.”

The abrupt change in conversational momentum gave her heart whiplash, and all she could say was, “H-huh?”

His dark eyes lingered on the tiles between them, though his thoughts were clearly elsewhere. “When we were first dating and her parents were considering forbidding her to see me, since I was a martial artist, she drafted up plans to sneak out a few nights a week in case she needed to. When she took an interest in shodo, she spent hours practicing her strokes until they were absolutely perfect. When she found out I liked shogi, she played against me until she could beat me in just about every fair match. She was always so calm and soft-spoken that most people didn't realize it, but whenever she decided she liked something,  _oh,_ she stuck to it like a hound to a hare.” He looked up to meet Akane’s stunned gaze. “You get that from her. By the time I'd taught you the basics of the Art you were already more enthusiastic about it than even I was. I could barely keep up with your energy.”

He sighed. “I stopped training you because I was afraid to hit you, yes, and the idea still bothers me, but it's not why I never picked up where we left off. I am not the same man I once was, Akane-chan. When… when it happened, I didn't have it in me to practice the Art anymore, and my strength and skill are not what they used to be. I didn’t want you to think less of me when I failed to live up to your expectations.

“Now, though…” He trailed off, choked by emotion, and tears began to mark trails down his cheeks. “You're right. You're old enough. My little girl is on her way to being her own little woman, and it's time I taught you what you'll need to master if you're going to carry on the school. I can't train you myself, but I can still give you the scrolls that make up our style.” Tears flowing freely, he placed a hand over hers on the edge of the board. “For now, though, would you mind if we kept playing?”

Akane held a hand up to her mouth and blinked away the wetness in her eyes before wrapping her arms around her father's neck and saying, “Thank you, dad!”

He returned the embrace wholeheartedly, wetting the shoulder of her top and half-whimpering, “Anything for my daughter.”

When his crying finally subsided, they separated and continued their game, filling the silence with the soft clacking of tiles on the board. The only hints left that anything had even happened were her damp shoulder, his reddened eyes, their smiles, and his gold general piece, which was suddenly positioned to threaten her rook even though it'd been halfway across the board before. When she noticed the difference, her smile grew so wide it made her cheeks sore.

She didn't notice hunger settling into her stomach until it growled so loud it broke her concentration. The two of them laughed about it, then mutually decided to save their current game for some later time, placing it carefully in the cabinet so as not to disturb the placement of the pieces. Her father retired to his room and she checked the fridge, finding some leftovers from the night before but not enough to sate her now that it was hours past lunch. She decided she'd have to go out and get something.

She was about to head upstairs to grab her wallet and a coat when she realized she'd left her change from the day before in the pockets of the black pants she'd walked through Nakano in. Slapping her forehead, she made her way to the changing room instead, hoping Kasumi hadn't done the laundry last night. Her sister almost always checked each pocket before washing but she felt a little guilty each time she made her work any harder than she already did. Luck was on her side, though, and the washing machine was still half-full with dirty clothes. Praying to whatever kami may be listening that her hand wouldn't touch anything her father or Genma had worn, she reached in, grabbing what she thought were her pants.

The article she ended up pulling out, however, was one of Ranma's basic black tank top undershirts (as opposed to the one with his name written in romaji across the chest; she always wondered where he got that, given how uncommon his name was). She scowled at her own mistake and was about to toss it back in with the rest of the clothes when she noticed how oddly imbalanced the fabric’s thickness was along its length. She'd held it up with one hand on the top half and the other on the bottom, and the material of the former was far bulkier than that of the latter. Curiosity piqued, she turned it inside-out and found stitching so clean it could only be Kasumi’s running around the mid-torso and outlining the arm and neck holes. When she realized what she was looking at, she flushed.

It was a bra. More precisely, a sports bra, just as black as the tank top, jury-rigged to blend seamlessly into the fabric without compromising its effectiveness.

Her mind immediately rushed to the memory of Nabiki listing off Ranma's supposed lack of inhibitions with regards to buying women's clothes for himself, but she cut that line of thought off. She'd already deliberated enough on what that might say about him, having eventually come to the conclusion that, since he never really wore a feminine outfit on any occasion other than the specific circumstances he'd evidently bought them for, he likely only saw them as means to an end, and was simply too blinded by the notion of gaining every advantage he could to see that he could cut his costs down by reusing old outfits. It was still weird, but it mostly made sense given his opportunistic nature. It did clash with his typical thriftiness, but she'd been trying hard not to think too much about that, lest she reopen a can of worms she'd just managed to get a lid on.

Unfortunately, that lid proved quite flimsy in the face of this new information. Ranma wore bras. Since he wore those tank tops under his shirts every day, he wore bras _regularly_ , and given that she'd only been able to tell there was anything unique about the undershirt when she was touching it, it was designed to not show at all, which meant he'd _been_ wearing bras regularly for _who knows how long._

Then again, his status as a martial artist, as well as the heir to the Saotome school in particular, meant that he ended up moving rapidly and erratically very often every day, and his cursed form was, to put it gracefully, rather _healthy_. That much motion with wholly unbound breasts would be a recipe for disaster even for a martial artist like Akane, whose school was far less actively mobile. It was, again, odd, but now that she'd given it thought, it was less odd than the outfits, and really, Ranma's curse in and of itself _made_ things odd, so maybe he was allowed a little leeway in that regard.

She tossed the bra-tank back in the washer, feeling overwhelmingly out of her depth. She wondered if maybe Ukyou or even Konatsu could give her at least some insight into the gender-centered nuances Ranma was navigating through, even though neither of their situations were quite the same. She wasn't even sure what she was _supposed_ to think of it all, let alone what she actually _did_ think of it, and approaching the subject with someone who at least had some kind of experience blurring the lines of the binary might shed new light on things.

She was halfway down the engawa when she remembered what she'd actually gone to the changing room for in the first place. She slapped her forehead and turned back around.

By the time she left the house, the clouds that'd been creeping westward hours ago were eating up the last bits of unblocked sky, darkening the ward's typically pale neutral tones. Snow seemed likely to make a second appearance, which only made her feel better about convincing Ranma to buy a (sort of) proper jacket.

Ucchan’s had apparently opened for dinner before she arrived; she ducked under the noren to find a small handful of customers already seated: a few students at the counter tearing into their meals, a sad-looking old man with an even sadder-looking okonomiyaki by the door, and a pair of what looked like salarymen, who weren't actually eating anything, just nursing drinks at their table near the rear, and looked a touch out of place, despite the traditional atmosphere of the restaurant typically complimenting their type.

To her surprise it was not Ukyou she found working the grill but rather Konatsu, who ever-so-slightly tensed up when she saw her. Guilt nagged at her heart as she worried that Konatsu might've overhead what she'd said the last time she was there, but the waitress still offered her a smile. “Hi, Akane! What brings you by?”

“Nothing much, I just felt like swinging by and grabbing a bite. And, well… I also wanted to talk to you and Ukyou. About Ranma.”

The hint of apprehension in Konatsu’s body language suddenly erupted into a half-panic as she waved her arms placatively. “H-he said it would be okay! I mean, I wasn't totally sure about that, I know it's a really complicated situation, but I guess what I'm saying is, please don't be mad!”

Akane blinked. “What are you talking about?”

Konatsu stilled. “Um… what are _you_ talking about?”

Akane narrowed her eyes. “You know where he is, don't you? He told _you two_ what he was doing, but he didn't tell me!” She leaned over the counter, palms flat on its surface. “Where is he?”

Before Konatsu could answer, a high voice sounded through the service curtain. “Hey ‘Natsu, where should I-” Akane turned to see Ranma himself entering from the kitchen, wrapped up in a kimono and apron, carrying a stack of platters and frozen to the spot as his eyes locked with hers. “O-oh, uh, hey ‘Kane. Whatcha doin’ here?”

Akane only barely felt her fists clenching at her sides through the anger welling up in her chest. “Are. You. _Kidding_ me?! _This_ is your ‘training’? _This_ is what you've been disappearing to do all day? To play waitress for your ‘cute fiancée’?”

In quick succession Ranma set the platters down, hopped over the counter (the exact same way Konatsu does, Akane subconsciously noted), and, hands held up in front of him, said, “Wait-wait-wait, it's not what you think, it's not like that! Konatsu’s teachin’ me one of her techniques, alright? An’ she needed some help, ‘cause this place has been swamped lately an’ she didn't have any free time, so we worked this out. I swear, it ain't nothin’ more than that!”

Brow still deeply furrowed, she turned to Konatsu. “Is that true?”

Konatsu, who was visibly stressed, nodded jerkily.

“See?” Ranma interjected. “It's not a big deal.”

Akane narrowed her eyes at him. “Oh yeah? Then why didn't you say anything about it?”

His composure faltered under her glare, frustration worming its way into his voice. “‘Cause I knew you'd get all mad about it if I did, just like you always do!”

She threw up her hands. “Well I'm sure mad about it _now,_  so congratulations! Your plan worked out great.”

Now he returned her glare with one of his own. “Why are you still upset? I just explained how I'm not doin’ anything wrong, didn't I?”

She shouted, “Because you never told me, that's why!”

The restaurant had been relatively quiet before, but suddenly, in the face of her fury, it became deafeningly silent. Her voice was the only thing filling the space as she vented. “You never tell me anything! And- and it's not even just this sort of thing, where it's about your training or your other fiancées, even though that's really hard too, it's…” Her breath hitched. “It's the stuff about _you_ that you won't talk about that hurts the most. You never say how you feel about, like, your dad, and the way he treats you, or- or the whole clothes deal, or anything about your curse at all. It's infuriating! You can't keep everyone in your life at arm’s length forever and expect us to be okay with it!”

Her fists trembled as she said, “Will you ever even tell me how you actually feel about me? I know you're not really trying when you make fun of me now, and I don't know if that means you _do_ like me, or if you just… don't care about me at all anymore, so please, if you like me at all, could you give me a clear answer, for once? So that, one way or another, I can finally move on with my life?”

She begged him with her eyes to say something, anything, but he merely stammered, wide-eyed. “I- I don't… I can't…” His voice trailed off.

She chuckled morosely. “I knew it. You do hate me.”

His expression turned pained, mouth hanging open slightly. He began to say something, “‘Kane, I-” but was interrupted by a rather quiet but extremely unusual sound, something that was like tearing paper, hissing snakes, and water rapidly becoming steam all at once. Shock overtook his features, and he slowly looked down at himself, and what she saw when her eyes followed his made her blood run cold.

A slender, straight blade, as polished as silver, jutted out from his stomach, just a few inches aside his middle. She dragged her gaze back up to meet his and found the old man that'd been sitting by the door standing behind him, looming over his shoulder. His low ponytail swayed slightly in the aftermath of his movements, and his grey eyes, which moments ago had been as dull and lifeless as stone, were now shining with vicious, merciless purpose, the likes of which she'd never seen in her life. She looked back at Ranma to find his own bright blue eyes marred by a quality few were ever able to inspire in him: raw, unrestrained fear.

Then, suddenly, Ranma vanished, and all hell broke loose.


	6. Catch

Fate rarely affords the opportunity to witness one's own death secondhand, but Saotome Ranma could now confidently, if not comfortably, count himself among the unlucky few.

From his alternate viewpoint by the far corner, he could see about half of his would-be slayer’s form behind his own body. He was the same man that'd been ordering a plain okonomiyaki and sitting by the door for the past three nights (pale grey ponytail, thin moustache, deeply furrowed brow, somewhere around his 50’s, early 60’s, or, if time had been particularly unkind to him, late 40’s), but at the same time he wasn't that man at all. Gone was the listlessness in his posture, the lifelessness in his gaze- now he held himself with some new strength and purpose and his eyes blazed with intimidating intensity over a tight-lipped scowl, his former personality shed like snakeskin. The long, loose-fitting, mandarin-collared black coat he wore obscured his build even more than his similarly loose black button-up and slacks already did, though the blinding speed he'd struck with when Ranma dropped his guard spoke of well-maintained and likely very lean musculature.

Of course, Ranma could only barely focus on getting a read on the man while maintaining both the _Umisenken_ and his _Split-Body_ clone, and the piercing, tearing pain in his real gut, dampened only by the distance between his selves, was worsening as the moment stretched on, threatening to topple everything if his concentration slipped for an instant. It soon became too intense to bear, and he was forced to dismiss his clone with a snap of dissipating ki, abruptly relieving him of the worst of his agony (though it still left him with a lingering soreness and numbness in the area) and revealing a smooth, polished stone where his clone’s center had been, which was now beginning to adjust to its changed relationship with gravity. The man, who Ranma was tentatively labeling a Naito, watched with clear surprise as the waitress he'd just impaled suddenly ceased to exist, then followed the stone with his eyes as it began to fall.

For the briefest of moments, Ranma contemplated his options. He could maintain the _Umisenken_ and wait to see what Naito did next, but that would give his opponent the opportunity to snatch the stone himself, limiting Ranma's technique pool. On top of that, if Ranma wasn't the only one Naito was after, or if he wasn't above taking hostages, inaction would leave the restaurant’s other occupants unacceptably vulnerable. He had to act now. A solid surprise attack would give him as much of an advantage as he could take with one blow, but he doubted it'd be near enough to take Naito out, and initiating a fight inside was even more of a danger to everyone else there than not starting one at all. He had to take things elsewhere.

Just as the stone hit tile, he dropped the _Umisenken_ to reveal his actual body, still in cursed form but wearing a set of short sleeved cobalt-over-black silks instead of the waitress kimono and apron. He shouted, “ _Mouko Takabisha!”_ and fired off a blue-tinged ki bullet as wide as a manhole cover just past Akane’s side. His shout instantly drew Naito’s attention, and just before it reached him he brought up his free hand and released a short burst of bright white ki to counter, causing the pit of Ranma's gut to pool with dread. Pure ki was the mark of a master of ki manipulation, and never a capability to take lightly. The two techniques collided with a resounding crack, spewing rapidly dissipating pale blue energy outward in an conical shape towards Naito. Despite the impressive display of reflexes and potency, though, the impact still knocked him clear off his feet and he blasted through the open doorway, making the noren flap around madly in his wake.

Ranma wasted no time following, slowing only briefly to pick up his stone and slip it into his pocket. Outside, he found Naito half-prone in the middle of the street, in the process of pulling himself up, and stopped a short distance before him. Heavy, dark clouds pervaded the sky, limiting the light of the low sun to a dim fraction and threatening to impede visibility, especially if the fight dragged on into the night. In addition, the frail flakes of snow now speckling the air spoke of harsher weather to come if he didn't take care of things quickly. A quick glance to either side revealed the few bystanders in the area already running, allotting him a minor twinge of relief. The locals knew from experience that the best course of action when a real fight broke out was to evacuate without hesitation; those not from Nerima, or those from neighborhoods on its northeastern edge, tended to stand still and gawk, a restriction on utilizable space he was glad to do without for this fight. He turned back to the man in front of him, who was already up on one knee, and said, “Alright, assho-”

A startlingly sudden horizontal slash interrupted him as instinct jerked his upper body backwards. Ranma's eyes widened, startled by both the sheer velocity and precise control with which Naito had risen into and subsequently executed the attack. As the blade passed over him, he saw what looked like a flash of light reflected in its length, despite the current dearth of direct sunlight. Then, before he could fully pull himself up, another slash, this one coming down at an angle, forced him to step back and duck again, denying him any opportunity to counter. Naito’s style was both aggressive and unfamiliar, leaving him little choice but to focus entirely on dodging each slash and stab, even as he was getting pressed further and further backwards by the sinuous, almost zig-zagging footwork. He cursed internally as they approached the restaurant once more and readied himself for a risky blade-catch, knowing he couldn't let the fight lead back inside.

Before he could make the attempt, a figure in a faded red shozoku slipped into the space between them, clamping down on Naito’s sword arm with both hands and receiving a nasty-looking cut in the shoulder for her trouble. When he started struggling to free his arm, his blade dug an inch deeper than where her collarbone should've been before finally stopping. Konatsu grimaced in bitten-back pain as thick white smoke began to spew from the wound, but her grip hardly faltered. Then, though she was right in front of him, Ranma heard her voice call out from behind.

“Please move!”

He obliged, stepping to one side as Konatsu’s clone disappeared in a puff of smoke that Naito was now trying to back out of. The (presumably) real Konatsu, still wearing her kimono and apron, dashed faster than he'd expected her garb would allow out the doorway and straight into the cloud, one hand reaching for something within and the other rising to chest level, palm flat and sideways. Just after she disappeared into it a flare of red light erupted from within, followed by Naito’s form rocketing backwards and back into the open street, the sharp screech of his slippers’ soles against pavement marking his recovery.

Her attack dispersed the last of the smoke, and she followed up by flinging the shuriken in her left hand towards him. He brought up his sword to block it, once more glinting with unnatural light, but before the shuriken made contact it rapidly began to glow a golden hue, then wrapped the surrounding air in smoke. Nearly instantly, it coalesced into another shozoku-clad Konatsu, whirling dizzyingly fast and streaming leftover smoke. The clone used her momentum to full effect, meeting Naito with a vicious aerial roundhouse that slammed into his shoulder, just above the end of his blade. For a moment, it seemed as though the blow was about to send him flying in the other direction, but before his skid could turn into a tumble he held out his free hand and released another short burst of white ki, in which Ranma could now see a few small splotches of some muddied, bruised mauve. The maneuver counteracted his inertia and granted him enough leftover force to begin an immediate turnabout assault on the clone.

Now that Ranma was on the outside of the fight for a moment, he had an invaluable chance to analyze Naito’s style. The first connection his mind made was to Wudang Xing Jian, given the constantly pushing footwork and versatile array of movements, but the blade was single-edged, rather than a double-edged jian. His next inclination was to label it an evolution of some old ninjutsu substyle, due to its ruthless aggression and consistent targeting of vitals, but upon closer inspection Naito’s blade wasn't a shinobigatana either- not nearly thick and heavy enough. It was a chokutou, thin, short, and bearing a small, decorative ovular design for an ornate sort of pommel. He concluded, to his discontent, that the style must be some synthesis of Wudang Xing Jian and ninjutsu adjusted to accommodate its use.

He would have had a hard enough time dealing with either style alone, given his comparative lack of familiarity with specialized weapon forms, but a combination of the two presented a dangerously unpredictable threat. He'd have to either find a way to take the offensive or figure out how to turn Naito’s aggression against him, and he didn't have enough room between the rows of businesses to pull anything fancy.

He tried to ask the deeply focused Konatsu next to him, “How long do you think you can-” but was silenced by her pained cry as her clone, already bleeding smoke from a few smaller lacerations, was cut deeply across the chest by a decisive swing. It joined its predecessor in hazy disintegration, and Naito charged out of its remains without hesitation, sprinting directly towards him. He hissed out, “Shit,” and made a snap decision to meet Naito in the middle of the street. Figuring his best shot was to strike quickly before his opponent could chain together another oppressive offensive, he dodged the opening feint and ducked the slash that followed, slipping past Naito’s sword arm to his side, where he wouldn't be able to counter with his free hand, and formed a _Mouko Takabisha_ in his hands.

Before he fired it off, though, Naito’s head swiveled to face him and his eyes flared wide. For a fraction of a second, Ranma saw luminescent motes gather in front of his pupils before they exploded into twin flashes of light, and Ranma's world went white. He shouted wordlessly and blindfired his _Mouko Takabisha_ , relieved to hear the subsequent scratchy huff of Naito getting the wind knocked out of him followed by a thudding sound some twenty meters downstreet. His own eyes were now burning, though, and he clenched them tightly closed in a desperate attempt to suppress the formless colors flooding his vision. Hastily, he took a defensive stance, hands open palm-forward and close to his upper torso, one held just above the other to lessen the chance of damage to any vital organs, and poured his focus into his other senses.

He'd expected to hear cloth rustle as Naito rose, the feather-light tapping of trained footfalls closing the distance between them, the sensation of his pressuring aura intensifying. Instead, he felt a new presence emerge from his right only to rush in Naito’s direction, followed by the ugly ringing clang of steel meeting steel, which led to rapid, irregular repetitions occasionally accompanied by the sharp shouts of the newcomer. Nonplussed, he opened his eyes and started trying to blink away the now-fading optical chromaticism. Just as his mind began to interpret and recognize the fragmented details of the street, another new person arrived, filling his fuzzy vision and gripping him by the shoulders.

“ _Ranma!_ Oh kami- Ranma, I got Ukyou, she’ll hold him off, we have to-”

He began to make out the more specific features of Akane’s face beyond its general shape and hue just in time to watch her gaze drop below his. Those features then twisted into tight-browed confusion, her mouth hanging slightly open for a moment before she spoke again:

“You're not bleeding.”

He stilled, an awful jolt running through him as he realized she'd not known he was using the _Split-Body_ technique, that she'd believed he'd really sustained a potentially lethal wound, but pushed the feeling aside for the moment. “Yeah, I'm fine,” he said, avoiding her eyes. “I'll tell ya later.” Without waiting for a response, he darted past her, approaching the dueling pair.

Ukyou, despite being the most experienced martial weapons user present, was quickly and clearly losing any advantages she might have begun with, now forced to use her giant battle spatula almost exclusively for defensive parries. Naito forced her upper hand to leave the handle with a precise jab that just barely missed her wrist, then followed through by dragging his blade down its length toward her other hand, attempting to consummate the two-step disarming move.

Ranma interjected with a blindsiding punch to Naito’s bicep, forcing his arm to spasm and jerk his chokutou away before it could threaten Ukyou’s fingers. A series of follow-up strikes placed Naito on the defensive for once, blocking high kicks and lightning-fast jabs with his free hand and the forearm of his sword hand. Ranma managed to push him a sizeable distance back before Naito attempted to turn the tables with a downward stab towards his kidney. He took the opportunity to leap high, pushing off his opponent’s shoulder with one hand as he somersaulted over his head. When the older man whipped around to face him, Ranma was more than a little disappointed to find his stoic mask of determination unperturbed, but he didn't let the feeling linger.

Instead, he took a split-second assessment of the positions and statuses of the others. Behind Naito he could see Ukyou, recomposing herself, obviously worn out by Naito’s assault; Konatsu, still in front of the restaurant, recovering from the numerous phantom wounds she'd received through her clones; and Akane, who was now approaching with steady stride, eyes glaring, expression hard. The snowfall was already picking up, forming growing patches of snow on the pavement and roof tiles, which would help keep residents inside, but the street was still too cramped to go all-out in. His course of action decided, he met Naito’s eyes once more, affected the most obnoxious a smirk he could muster and said, “You want me? Come an’ get me.”

He backstepped to avoid the answering slash, then pivoted on the ball of the foot he landed on and leapt onto a rooftop. He hit the ridge beam running, breaking out into a sprint only when he heard a second pair of feet land behind him, and leapt to the neighboring roof just after, relatively certain that the distance of just under one roof’s length between them would give him enough breathing room to lead the fight away from the others. Satisfied, he maintained his speed, deftly stepping around the collecting piles of slush, letting the falling snow wet his skin and silks and following an improvised path in the general direction of the hidden setting sun.

The third pair of footsteps that started up a little further back nearly caused him to stumble disastrously just before a cross-roof jump. Suddenly his mind was racing to determine which of the three could've followed him. Konatsu had hardly been in strong enough condition to sprint on solid ground, much less mimic the acrobatic feats of balance and agility he was currently performing. Ukyou, while not suffering from the same half-translated injuries, had spent long enough trying to meet Naito’s relentlessness head-on that she should've been all but spent. That left only-

Nearly giving himself whiplash with how hard he swung his head around and jerkily displacing the damp red bangs curtaining his eyes, Ranma balked at the sight of Akane replicating his steps some two and a half roofs behind Naito with relatively minimal trouble, her furious glare unwavering even through the demanding movements. After a moment of wide-eyed surprise at her seemingly newfound capabilities, he realized what'd changed recently and silently chastised himself for covering roofhopping so early in her training curriculum. He pulled his own gaze front and center again to prevent any costly mistakes and shouted, loud enough for her to still hear, “Get outta here, ‘Kane! This is between me an’ the old geezer!”

He wasn't sure what he'd expected her to say in return, but in sudden retrospect, he figured he really should've expected her refusal. “He _stabbed_ you, you chivalrous jerk! _Stabbed_ you!!”

He growled out his frustration and reached a hand into his pocket, sweeping wet stray hairs from his eyes with the other. Yelling, “Hang onto this for me, will ya,” he chucked his linchpin stone over his shoulder, just high enough to sail over Naito’s head, and steeled himself in anticipation of the next step. He opened up his connection to the ki-infused rock and flooded it with warm ki, hastily recreating his network of pathways around it before wrapping that network in layer after layer of rapidly materializing ki until he'd constructed a full replica of himself in his waitress kimono. Straining to ignore the conflicting sensations of two sets of clothes rubbing against two skins and being involved in two opposing states of motion at once, he allowed his airborne clone to collide with Akane, who yelped in surprise. He pushed his multitasking skills to the limit, maintaining his speed and footwork in his own body as Akane and his clone tumbled off the ridge beam and onto the tiled slope to the side. He managed to stop the both of them from rolling any further just before the edge, then wasted no time in rising to a kneel beside her and pinning her face-down by the shoulders.

She struggled against him wildly, releasing half-coherent shouts of “Get… off-augh!!” and “Ranma, I swear, if you don't-” in impotent anger, but the skilled positioning of his pin held up in the face of her remarkable strength. Only as he bounded further and further away from his clone and his connection to its center thinned did she manage to start breaking free, but by then he felt he'd gotten far enough and severed the link, dismissing his projection. Though he no longer had a second set of ears there, her frustrated scream still echoed on the most distant periphery of his hearing. He ignored it.

Over the course of the chase that followed, Ranma carefully arced their path slightly northward for a few blocks, then, once he could see the eastern edge of Shakujii Park, used the occasional streetlight or high wall as improvised stepping stones to cross southwest towards its far end. Naito, though unable to make any significant gain on him throughout, did not seem to struggle much with the challenges presented, and Ranma found himself once more impressed by the old man’s fitness and endurance and wondered just what it was going to take to wear him down.

Eventually he came to the precipice of the world of concrete and steel, jumping three stories down from the last roof to the snow-dampened park dirt without hesitation. He kept running, allowing the impact to slow his momentum for a few steps to make sure Naito was following, but when his instincts abruptly blared ‘ _DANGER_ ’ he sprung into a roll to the side. As he was in motion, he heard the partially muffled booming of a small explosion hitting the ground, and for a moment light, both brilliant white and turbid mauve in near-equal amounts, flared on the edge of his vision. He recovered from his dodge to find Naito standing where he'd just been, crouched from the force of landing and holding his free hand just over a half-meter wide crater of displaced dirt and slush. Wide blue eyes met piercing grey ones through the tattered veil of falling snow, and an instant later Ranma found himself once again being pushed back by steps that seemed to steadily curve out to one side and then veer in the other direction soon after, like a painter laying out the first broad stroke of a huge circle’s edge over and over.

It took the employment of a middle stage of the Soul of Ice for Ranma to keep from outwardly showing evidence of the sudden revelation that followed. He may have been wholly unfamiliar with Naito’s specialized style, and he may have been unable to dredge up all the particulars of Wudang Xing Jian from his memories, but he knew Ba Gua Zhang inside and out, especially since its very principles of movement complimented one of his favorite techniques so well, and it just so happened to be the style Wudang Xing Jian as a substyle took its step patterns from. Though Naito’s style was not without its modifications to that base, they were expressed more in the truncation of sequences than outright alteration; thus, the curling lines of circles cut short.

This newfound information came none too soon either, as the further Naito pushed Ranma back into the park, the denser the population of trees became. In order to both stay attentive to his opponent and avoid backing into a trunk, he had to push his ki sense to its limits, feeling around him for every subtle concentration of vertically spread ki and doing his best to move around each with as wide a margin as he could afford. As Naito pressed on, brow somehow scrunching further in on itself with each evaded slash and stab, Ranma gained a greater sense of how his patterns of attack corresponded to his footwork, allowing him enough strategic leeway to be confident in focusing on both senses at once without letting a single mistake through. After ten seconds, he started letting each strike come as close to him as possible in an attempt to further fuel Naito’s consternation. After twenty, he was managing to land the occasional jab or knifehand strike between ducks and dodges. After thirty, he was smirking smugly and openly, though the gravity of the situation and the encroaching fatigue of excessive ki usage made it a somewhat hollow gesture.

Their surroundings blurred by largely unnoticed, but some part of his mind took note of the parts of the park they were passing in order to vaguely map out their location. Slender, footworn dirt paths occasionally crisscrossed their trajectory, bordered by the slim, dark trunks of nigh-barren cherry trees and canopied by the spindly and leafless splay of zelkova branches. As they neared the heart of the park's western half, dense Chinese evergreen oaks blotted out the white-grey blur of snow and storm above, and clusters of pallid orange kinmokusei buds marked their increasing proximity to the verdant border of Sanpoji Pond.

Ranma's initial intent was to lead Naito to the low-set, outdoor cement amphitheater he remembered from past outings with the Tendous, where the open space would give him enough room to finish things, but Naito, apparently hellbent on cornering him by the water, cut off each straying step with invasive gap-closing lunges and swipes. He found himself once more running out of options, but now, with his odds bolstered by his knowledge, he felt a good deal more secure in the success of the gambit he had in mind. A small, traitorous inner voice reminded him that, conversely, if it failed, there'd be no one around to save him this time, but he stuffed it down.

Right when they passed beside a bench he knew to be a mere ten meters from the pond’s edge, he abruptly kicked up a spray of snow and dirt into Naito’s face between the second and third steps of a five-step combo. The ever-so-slight delay that imposed on the arcing swing that came next earned him just enough time to deflect Naito’s sword arm with a palm strike to the inside of his wrist. With the addition of a concurrent pressure point jab to temporarily disable Naito’s free arm, he broke the formidable man's guard wide open. He took full advantage of the opportunity, loosing a flurry of punches at _Kachuu Tenshin Amaguriken_ speeds to Naito’s midsection, avoiding any potentially lethal blows while still causing as much pain as possible.

The sharp snap of ribs cracking barely had enough time to echo off the surrounding trees before Naito’s body slammed against the thick trunk of an oak, all but crumpling to a slouched sitting position, arms splayed limply at his sides, chokutou laid flat a half-meter in front of him. An inconsistent splatter of crimson stained slush and darkened soil between the two of them, most prominently at the two endpoints, where Ranma had leveled the attack and where Naito was still coughing up blood, bold wet streaks trailing down his chin.

Instead of approaching along the grisly red carpet, Ranma held his position. He didn't doubt he'd dealt out some significant damage, but he wasn't about to take chances with someone that'd managed to surprise him in such a scenario once already. He met Naito’s eyes with a frigid stare and, suppressing as many signs of his nearly-drained state as he could, said, “Don't bother gettin’ up. Ain't gonna end any better than this for ya.” He sniffed. “Before I knock you out an’ tie you up, though, I gotta question. You've been watchin’ me for a while, so you sorta know what I'm about, but me? I only got bits an’ pieces of what your deal is, and none of those bits said anything ‘bout skewerin’ me.

“Now,” he said, shaking the soreness out of his bloody-knuckled right hand, “you can either tell me why you tried to shish-kebab my guts, or you can keep yer yap shut. I don't think I hafta tell you which one makes the knockin’-out part easier on ya.”

A tense moment of silence passed as Naito steadily straightened up against the tree, his head once again held high and his penetrating gaze teeming with violent promise despite his condition. When he finally spoke, his voice rasped with more than just the grate of battered insides, low but not deep, and a bit reedy. “If you don't already know why, you are either willfully ignorant or denser than the trash that spawned you.”

Ranma's eyes narrowed at the comparison, and he had to slip deeper still into the Soul of Ice to keep himself from retaliating physically. “I get death threats like candy on the ground gets ants, so sorry if I can't remember what me or Pops did to piss you specifically off. Just ‘cause you came closest don't mean you're that special.”

Naito slowly drew up his legs, knees bent at angles just under ninety degrees, hands pressed palm-down against the ground, seemingly to keep him from tipping over to either side. “My steel bears no spite, Saotome Ranma, nor is the will that guides it mine alone. The only reason I must kill you is that you must die. You and your craven ilk.”

Ranma sighed, raising his arms together and gathering swirling ki in front of his hands. “Well, it ain't the dumbest answer I've gotten but it sure is the most boring. Let's talk more when you wake up, how's that so-”

He'd expected Naito to use small ki bursts to lurch forward into a crouch, follow with a quick retrieval of his chokutou, then top it off with an imprecise desperation slash intended to at least startle him out of forming his _Mouko Takabisha,_ so when Naito executed the first two steps his confidence didn't waver an inch. What took him by surprise was Naito’s third step, in which he instead began to swipe upward at a distance notably greater than his reach, sword now held with both hands. Confusion melted into shock as the blade began to blaze with blinding white ki, spewing a far-reaching plume of equally white flame that carved skyward as Naito’s swing followed through, dispersing his own ki attack and forcing him to yank back his hands, lest the licking heat burn them. The plume dissipated when the slash reached its endpoint, but reappeared when Naito stabbed towards his chest, compelling him to dash back a sizable distance. The nearby kinmokusei buds that'd begun to freeze over in the presence of Ranma's aura were now thawing, and those that hadn't been close enough ended up singed, trickling the slight scent of twistedly fragrant smoke into the air.

When Ranma realized he'd just been pushed all the way to the water's edge, his mind began to race frantically, looking for some way out of his suddenly dire position. He could try and escape Naito’s greatly enhanced range, facing odds a habitual gambler wouldn't take. Jumping into the pond in the middle of a building snowstorm would keep him safe from Naito’s flames for as long as his diminutive cursed form could stand the total drain of body heat, which was to say not even long enough to flip a coin. Then, like a piercing beacon in the midst of his scattered tactical thought processes, an idea came to him, one built on risk after risk, where the failings of any singular step, themselves raised on untested foundations, meant absolute catastrophic disaster.

His favorite kind of plan.

So much depended on that literal first step, though, that Ranma felt his heart about to burst from his chest as he tensed his legs. He launched backwards, seeing the patches of slowly melting snow that spotted the pond’s surface pass forward beneath him. He had to consciously suppress the instinct to prepare for an improvised dive and instead positioned his foot as though he were still moving over solid ground, ready to take another step. He waited until the last possible moment before his slipper touched water, then flared as much ki through his inverted center as he could manage, abruptly forming a perfectly spherical aura of incredibly frigid air whose diameter was just a bit longer than his cursed form’s was tall and whose only visible effect was the instantaneous freezing of the wet patches on his silks and the water just beneath his foot. He then dropped the intensity back to regular Soul of Ice levels and backstepped as gingerly as possible off of the plate-sized chunk of ice. His efforts rewarded him with ample pushoff for the purposes of both maintaining his momentum and keeping comfortably above the water, while the makeshift platform itself sank a bit beneath the surface before starting to bob back up.

He was barely three such platforms out over the pond before Naito made to follow, utilizing Ranma's leftovers just as they began to resurface and splashing pondwater with each step. Though the pain was evident in his face, he pushed through it to continue his relentless assault, arcing searing ki that kept falling just short of Ranma. His scowl morphed into a teeth-baring sneer as he started to shout, coughing up the occasional small spray of blood between words.

“Know this, coward! Even if my will were my own, I- _cough -_ would hunt you to the ends of the earth!”

Ranma led the two of them on a curving path across the subtly churning water, careful not to allow Naito the chance to return to solid ground. He was nearing the limits of his strength, having used an extensive amount of ki techniques up to this point, so it was all he could do to keep forming his stepping stones and fleeing across them without distracting himself trying to insult or goad his opponent. It seemed he hardly needed to, though, as that bruised mauve color was steadily seeping into Naito’s ki.

“As a final pity, I will grant you- _hack -_ your answer. You want to know why you must die?”

Soom the flames were all but replaced by something murkier, closer now to spraying crests of magma in a sickly, spoiled purple hue. The heat radiating against Ranma's skin with each near-miss only intensified for it, promising to bring him tumbling from his tactically perilous state if his concentration faltered at all. He held himself together on self-directed assurances of ‘ _Just a little further, just keep it up for a few more seconds and it'll all be over’._

“Because while you and you father- _cough -_ still draw breath, _none_ are safe!!”

With one final step, Ranma came to a precarious halt on a pad of ice formed twice as wide as the others, his momentum causing it to spin a bit, and used that spin to twist into a corkscrew uppercut, shouting at the top of his lungs:

“ _Hiryuu Shoten Ha!!”_

At once, the wide double-spiral of hot and cold ki coalesced into a pillaring whirlwind that abruptly flung Naito skyward and carved the water of the pond into a pseudo-whirlpool. Some of the water, compelled against gravity by the artificial vacuum’s pull, rose into the tornado, accompanied first by blurring white streaks of once-falling snow, then by leaves and flower buds that'd been torn off the trees on the pond’s edge.

By sheer force of will, Ranma maintained his inverted aura and thus his position as the eye of the raging tempest. His ice pad was now spinning frenetically, and he had to perform an awkward maneuver that was somewhat like a half-forwards, half-backwards continuous skipping to keep himself from falling victim to its instability. Only its increased width and state of motion kept it from wholly sinking under his weight, though the water whipping at his ankles warned it would not stay that way for long.

Were he not already deeply wrapped in the Soul of Ice, his blood would have run cold at what he saw next. Upon reaching the apex of the whirlwind, Naito’s previously limp form tensed, holding out his free hand and releasing a series of ki bursts to control his spin. Though he didn't manage to right himself, he did succeed in entering the center, at which point he entered a daredevil nosedive, free hand cocked back, both flaming and magmatic ki streaking through his fingers, expression wild with murderous intent.

Without thinking, Ranma stomped against the ice, shattering his only foothold and scattering its shards into the roiling waters. Bringing his legs together and tucking his arms against his sides, he plunged below the surface, refusing to acknowledge the shock of rapid heat loss that followed. In a one-two sequence that all but bottomed out his already-drained ki reserves, he summoned a red-hot flash of aura, gritting his teeth at the scalding pain of the water closest to his body instantly evaporating, then reinverted his center for a final, massive flash freeze. The steam turned once more to water, and the water that'd maintained its state of matter solidified into a huge, malformed globe, ensconcing him in a shell of ice over three meters thick. Flitting between such extreme temperatures made his nerves scream with conflicting signals, but his lips stayed sealed, trapping his cry of pain in his throat, and his eyes remained squeezed shut.

An unbearably long second of stasis played hell on Ranma's frayed nerves before Naito’s impact rocked his sunken tomb. He felt it more than he heard it, getting jostled about in his cramped pocket of water as his brain rattled in his skull. Then came the screeching, sibilant hiss of superheated ki vaporizing ice, becoming less and less muffled as it tore through the outer layers towards the core. He had only a couple panic-colored seconds to hope with everything left in him that he'd finally caused Naito enough injury to force a retreat, because he seriously doubted he could stave off any further attacks.

Once vestigial heat had sufficiently thinned the closest layer of the upper shell, Ranma braced his forearms in an ‘X’ shape above him and pushed off the bottom, breaking through into the open water of the pond. Though the waters were still in a state of significant unrest, they'd settled notably down from the chaos of the full _Hiryuu Shoten Ha._ Still, he dared not surface yet, in case Naito was still standing, waiting for him to give away his location. Instead, he picked a direction and did his damnedest to swim straight. His lungs were burning for lack of oxygen by the time his hand scraped against soil, at which point he hastily pushed his head above the water and gasped for air. He dredged the rest of his body out, scrambling ashore, then collapsed onto his stomach against the snow and grass.

A horrible minute passed where he was alone with the rising winds of the real storm, the dying winds of his own, the snow slowly draping over his prone form, the chattering of his teeth, and the aching soreness and numbing cold wracking his muscles and skin. He tried to prepare himself mentally for whatever punishment may come, but throughout the course of his respite, he heard no labored breath but his own, felt no steel slip between his shoulder blades. If he'd had the energy, he would have laughed madly with relief.

As he dragged himself sluggishly to his feet, shrugging off the snow that'd accumulated atop him, he assessed the damage to his person. His skin bore prominent steam burns, the majority of his uncovered arms splotched as red as his hair and blistering fiercely, though luckily those symptoms seemed to be the extent of that injury. The real issue was his plummeted body temperature; if he couldn't get warm soon, he ran the risk of sustaining far more threatening complications.

His solution soon came to him in the form of Akane, who appeared through the trees a third of the way along the pond’s full circumference away from him (close to where he'd left a strip of bloodied snow, he subconsciously noted). He smiled widely, despite how much effort it took, then waved his hands and hoarsely shouted, “ _Oi, ‘Kane!_ Over here!”

Though he couldn't quite see the finer details of her expression through the haze of fatigue, he saw when she turned reflexively towards his voice. She broke into a sprint along the pond’s border, and the exultation bubbling up in his chest spilled into a half-delirious giggle, even as she got close enough for him to recognize her anger.

“ _Man_ am I g-glad to see-”

She caught him in the jaw with a sucker punch, hard enough to jerk his head to one side but no harder than the hits they traded when sparring. Before he could recover, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed his body to hers.

“Don't you _ever_ do that again, idiot.”

In any other context, Ranma's instincts would have caused him to still completely in her embrace, but the overwhelming reality of her warmth quashed that reaction before it could manifest itself. Instead he felt all but compelled to melt into her and leech all the heat he could, a feeling he gave in to without a word.

“Jeez, Ranma, you're freezing!”

It was only when she pulled away to look him over that he regained the capability for coherent thought. “Ah, y-yeah, h-h-hold on a s-sec.” In short order, he pulled his thoroughly soaked top over his head and began untying the drawstring of his pants.

He saw Akane go rigid out of the corner of his eye. “Wh-what are you doing?”

A third voice sounding from behind her answered for him. “He's gotta get out of those wet clothes or he's gonna freeze to death, that's what.” He looked up to find Ukyou approaching at a half-jog, supporting a slightly limping Konatsu by keeping the other girl’s arm draped over her shoulder. She shot him a toothy grin that made no attempts to mask her relief. “Hey, Ran-chan. Didn't think I'd let you leave me behind again, didja?”

Stepping out of his pants, he shot back his own grin. “‘Course not. I know I'm irre-e- _eeeaaaahhh_ …” He shuddered violently as a biting wind blew past him, reminding him that, though he was no longer wrapped in wet silk, he was still standing in the middle of a snowstorm in nothing but a tank top and boxers.

Konatsu rushed to his side before the worst of the shaking passed. “Here! Sorry, sorry!” Her soothing golden aura quickly brightened into view, its warmth permeating his skin and slowly beginning to thaw him from the outside in.

Now his relief was almost palpable. “Ahh-ha-hahh yeeeaah, that's the stuff…” The powerfully pleasant feeling soon turned his knees to jelly, and the only thing that kept him from diving back into the snow was a quick arm catching him by the shoulder, holding him upright as he propped against her. “Thanks ‘Natsu, yer a lifesaver.”

Ukyou was the first to break the comfortable silence that followed. “So now that you're not about t’ die of hypothermia, mind tellin’ us why someone’s grandpa just tried to punch your ticket?”

The ends of Ranma's lips lost some of their upward curl. “Mmm, yeah. Well. Pops kinda warned me about that, said some real important dickheads were gonna come an’ surprise me to test my skills, but he sure didn't mention they were gonna try an’ run me through like that, so I don't got much stock in the details he gave us. Not that I did to begin with, but still.”

Ukyou’s expression soured considerably, her aura fuming more and more with each word after ‘Pops’. “Figures. Why _would_ he tell his _own child_ that someone wanted him dead?”

Ranma shrugged. “Anyways, that's pretty much all we know about ‘em. Well,” he chuckled, “that an’ this asshole’s got one seriously dramatic sense of presentation. You wanna know how he gave us his ‘challenge’? Wrote our family name on the floor of the dojo with a fucking _finger_.”

Suddenly, the warm aura blanketing him faltered. He turned his head to ask complain but stopped short when he saw the stricken look on Konatsu’s suddenly pale face. “What, you've heard of the Naito?”

She blanched further at the name, but nodded. “Once, from- from my father. He told me- he, um, warned me not to ever cross paths with them.”

Ranma arched a brow wryly. “Why, ‘cause they don't know the difference between a good fight an’ a duel to the death?”

Konatsu frowned, face heavy with concern. “Because they're a clan of assassins.”

“Oh.” He paused as a much less comfortable silence fell between the four of them. “Figures,” he muttered. An image flashed through his thoughts unbidden, the same one that'd seared itself into his memory just days before, that singular, unprecedented moment of perfect guilt, and this time it took the collective efforts of Konatsu, Ukyou, and Akane to keep him on his feet.

“Figures."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so damn long, life's been kicking my ass up and down the block. I've got spring break starting next week, though, so expect a return to a more regular schedule soon.
> 
> As a side note, supposedly Sanpoji Pond used to be known as the pond that "never dried up in summer, and never froze in winter." I don't know if this would've counted against that or not.


	7. When Weeds Choke the Blossoms

The first thing Ukyou noticed upon waking was that she wasn't in her futon.

An adolescence spent traveling alone meant that she'd endured many rough nights under the cover of bridges, atop level roofs, or holed up in vacant or abandoned buildings. It also meant that she'd typically carried just about everything she owned with her from place to place, so she'd long since developed a set of instincts to follow to ensure that no one who found her would manage to make away with her things. Those instincts were delayed this time around, given that she'd been living in a stable apartment for over a year now, but the belatedly familiar texture and bulk of her old travel bedroll still caused her to stiffen ever-so-slightly, muscles subtly tensed, breathing shallow and controlled, eyes kept closed. In listening for any potential threats, she heard neither footsteps nor shifting clothes- only the sleep-slowed breath of another person about two arms’ lengths from her, similarly prone, indicated she wasn't alone.

That was the first detail to jar her out of her defensive state. The second was that she didn't feel any holes in the men's pajamas she was wearing, or even much wear and tear at all. The third was the soreness in her arms: they were already shouting through her nerves their protests at being prepped for strenuous use so soon after the last taxing incident. Then she remembered the incident in question, as well as the events of the evening that'd followed. She sighed and peeked an eye open, and the tension started to bleed away. The plain off-white of her living room’s ceiling stared back at her, dimly visible by the pittance of daylight leaking through the blinds, distinguished from her bedroom’s ceiling both by its size and by the small, slender crack that'd been there since she'd moved in. Her gaze lingered on the imperfection as frustration settled into the same pit in her gut that apprehension had just vacated.

She understood that, realistically, she couldn't have been expected to stand up to an opponent that Ranma himself only barely defeated, and part of her accepted that. There was another part of her, though- a rooted and stubborn thing, cradled in the thick, tangled vines of ossified convictions -that refused to allow her the luxury of self-forgiveness, that told her she'd been tried last night and failed to measure up, again. Only this time, instead of failing to dole out vengeance to a boy who hadn't deserved it, she'd failed to defend that same boy from a clear and present threat to his life. In the face of lethality, unfettered by extraneous purposes, her family's style, which waffled between martial art and performing art, had served only to delay Naito. Not once had she found any opportunity to tangibly threaten him, and that fact had been gnawing at her confidence as a fighter since last night.

Eventually she figured she'd let herself wallow uselessly for long enough and she tore her mind away from the subject. She tore her eyes from the crack as well, then found herself wishing she hadn't as they fell upon another major source of her consternation: the slumbering girl tucked into the other bedroll next to her. When Ukyou had suggested Ranma stay with her until the Naito situation got resolved to avoid endangering the non-martial artists at the Tendou dojo, she'd hoped to score some extensive time alone with him as a bonus. When Akane had insisted she join him, that idea had gone right out the window.

Even though it wasn't nearly as unpleasant a situation as it could be, her presence carried with it a number of little dissonances, both spoken and unspoken. For one, despite her efforts to hide it, Ukyou could tell she was still a bit uncomfortable around Konatsu. It showed in the marginal details, like the barely noticeable squaring of her shoulders whenever Konatsu talked, or the slight strain in her voice when she replied. That they both bore the weight of parents lost in their hearts was likely one of the only things stifling further evidence.

Then there was the whole fiancées mess. The residual gravity of the circumstances helped keep their rivalry by and large peripheral, but that didn't eliminate it as a factor outright, as evidenced by their quabble over sleeping arrangements. It'd taken an exasperated and exhausted Ranma rolling his eyes, dragging Konatsu into the bedroom and closing the door behind them to settle the matter, and even then their acceptance was only begrudging. On top of that, since she didn't have one of her own, Akane got to use Ranma's old bedroll, which no doubt carried hints of his smell despite having been washed since he last used it.

The most insidious little issue, though, was of a more oblique nature. Given that Akane, having lived in a huge house in the suburbs of Tokyo her whole life, had probably never slept in anything less accommodating than her bed, Ukyou had anticipated no small amount of discomfort and complaints from her. The former had showed up in spades, made apparent by the tight frown she'd donned while struggling to find repose on modest canvas and worn, firm tatami, but for whatever reason, the latter had been absent. Ukyou had been preemptively relishing the opportunity to tease her for her dependence on creature comforts, and even though she knew it was ridiculous and more than a little petty, part of her was fundamentally irritated that she'd been denied her role as exactor of that tiny snippet of socioeconomic retribution.

She squeezed her eyes shut and let her head loll back to face the ceiling once more, rubbing at her forehead. The looming threat of a trained killer targeting Ranma was stressful enough by itself, and the last thing he needed was her and Akane fighting around him all day on top of that. Silently, she swore to herself she'd do her best to maintain the equanimous friendship they'd developed in recent months, despite the challenges this temporary living situation presented. She only hoped Akane could hold up her end of the peace as well.

“Ohhh yeah, right- right there…”

The low, guttural moan of Ranma’s voice sounding through the door to her bedroom caused her to sit up out of confusion. Between her and the door Akane stirred as well, rubbing her eyes and adjusting her speckled pajamas. She looked at the door, then turned to Ukyou. “What was-”

“Could you use a little more of that stuff? It's still a bit dry.”

This time Konatsu’s voice replied, almost too soft to be overheard and husky with what Ukyou hoped was just sleep. “Of course.”

A subtle pattern of sound, one Ukyou hadn't noticed wasn't part of the usual white noise from the street outside until it stopped, soon resumed, now wetter and more prominent. “Mmn, much better. Thanks, ‘Natsu-chan, I didn't wanna have to do this by myself. Can't really get all the right spots that way.”

Before Ukyou could even begin to picture what was going on beyond the door, Akane, who, if her stormy expression was anything to go on, had already done so, started disentangling herself from Ranma's bedroll. Bewildered and curious, Ukyou slid out from her own, and the two of them padded across the room.

“Y’know, for a martial artist ‘specially, you've got some real soft ha-”

Akane slid the door open, rattling it in its track. She began to growl, “Ranm-uh?”

Konatsu and Ranma were sitting together (kneeling and cross-legged, respectively) on the adjacent futons that took up most of the floor space in the cramped bedroom, both facing away from the door. Konatsu’s silken black curtain of hair flowed down the back of her pale lilac nightgown while Ranma's unkempt pigtail, almost as dark as Konatsu’s hair at the moment, was draped over one shoulder. With a small container in one hand and the other on Ranma's back, she was spreading a generous dab of balm onto the flaking, mildly pink remnants of the burns on his arms, shoulders and torso.

The two of them started at Akane’s entrance and craned their necks to find her and Ukyou at the door. Ranma was the first to recover. “Uh, mornin’?”

The poleaxed look that'd replaced the anger in Akane’s expression was in turn replaced by a flat and tired glare. “Whatever. Good morning. Finish up and get your shirt back on already, will you? Even with Ucchan’s skipping lunch today, we'll all have to be back in time to prep for dinner, so no slacking.”

Ranma’s lips curled into a sly, uneven smirk. “Considerin’ it looks like you just got up, I don't think I'm the one that needs a lecture ‘bout slacking.”

Akane cocked a brow. “Consider giving me one and you'll have to call Nabiki yourself.”

His smirk drooped into an equally skewed grimace as he turned away again, unfolding his legs and rising to his feet. “Fine, fine. Just close the door already, I gotta change my pants too.”

Ukyou puzzled at that, given he was already wearing a pair of the same loose black pants he wore just about every day, but before she could mention it Akane asked, “What, with Konatsu in the room?”

Shrugging, Ranma began rummaging through his bulky travel pack, tossing extraneous supplies and articles of clothing onto the futon without care. “I ain't got nothin’ she ain't seen before. Well, not right now, at least.”

Konatsu gave Akane an appeasing smile. “It's alright. I have to prepare my things anyways.” She then turned away from him, slid open the closet door and started gathering numerous pouches, straps and sheaths in her arms.

An odd look crept into Akane’s features before she shook it away and slid the door closed. She then turned to Ukyou. “Oh, you, um… you do have a landline, right?”

Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes, she replied, “Downstairs, by the divider window.” She didn't have to ask why Akane wanted to call her sister. There were only two reliable sources of esoteric information in Furinkan, and they were already planning on probing the other themselves. Whether or not they found anything relevant on their own errand (which, in this case, she sort of expected they would not), Nabiki’s frightening manipulation skills would likely turn up something useful. If there were any leads to be skimmed from official records, databases, or hapless government employees, she'd find them. Akane thanked her and disappeared into the stairwell.

Just as Ukyou finished tying up the bedrolls, Ranma emerged from the bedroom. She almost failed to register the identity of the figure that appeared in her peripherals; his silhouette was so changed by the austere cut of his light olive Mao suit that, had she not seen him wear it once or twice before, she would have been startled by his presence. As it was, she still had to blink a couple times to reconcile the image with reality.

“Getting into the spirit, Ran-chan?”

“Eh?” He looked at her owlishly, then looked down at his clothes, causing his cap, which was emblazoned with a bold red star, to dip askew. “Oh! Nah, actually, didn't even think of that. I just needed somethin’ formal-lookin’.”

“To break into a building in?”

“Yeah,” he said, as though she'd asked him if he used cups to drink out of, “to break into a buildin’ in.”

She grinned. “You know you're gonna have to explain that one to me, smartass.”

“Ain't all that complicated, really,” he said, shrugging. “We're doin’ this in broad daylight on a street that's usually got at least a few folks walkin’ by. Who’re they gonna get suspicious of, a guy that looks like he's out to do some important, legit business-type stuff or someone that came dressed to sneak around?”

His reasoning made sense. It'd never been an aspect she'd had to consider herself, as the methods she'd developed on her own had been tailored to target unused buildings, often in low-population areas and pretty much always at night. It also stood to reason that the son of a master thief would know a number of ways to lower the risk of getting caught. Still, as sound as his explanation was… “Is that really the look for that, though?”

“What, too fancy?”

Her first impulse was to explain that he looked more like someone who wanted to start political theory debates with strangers than a businessman with a tight schedule, but she stifled it. “Nevermind. You look great, hon.”

He shot back a smirk that mostly reached his eyes. “Don't I know it.”

The sound of steps coming up the stairwell drew their attention, and when Akane reached the top his outfit caught hers. She cocked a brow. “A little on the nose, don't you think?”

“He says something formal’ll draw less suspicion,” Ukyou interjected.

Akane frowned, almost disbelieving. “That's supposed to be _formal?_ ”

Gesturing towards himself, he said, “Hey, this is formal nuff! The collar’s all tight an’ chokey an’ everything. I'm pretty sure that makes it at least business casual.”

She scoffed. “Maybe, in China, twenty years ago! But here, in the time and place we _do_ live in, people are just going to assume you're about to stand on a street corner and start quoting from a little red book.” She folded her arms. “Don't you have any regular button-ups and slacks? A tie, even?”

He stuck out his tongue at that. “Ew, no, ‘course not. Whaddaya take me for, a banker?”

“I refuse to believe even you don't own anything nicer than that.” She gestured toward his suit offhand, almost condescending.

“I mean, yeah, but all my _really_ good clothes are for-” He froze, then closed his eyes and folded his arms across his chest, retreating from the subject. “Anyways. What'd Nabs say?”

Akane searched his features for a moment, then obliged. “She says she’ll do it, but it'll cost you.”

“‘Course,” he grumbled. “Alright, what's she chargin’ for this one?”

Her brows raised over half-lidded eyes. “A session with ‘Little Red’.”

The meaning of her answer wasn't lost on Ukyou. ‘Little Red’ obviously referred to Ranma's cursed form, and there was only one kind of session Nabiki could want from him like that. Given that he would never agree to a photoshoot like that willingly and Nabiki undoubtedly knew it, this had to be her way of saying no. It was disappointing, but hopefully they'd turn up something at-

“Fine,” he said, meeting Akane’s eyes for a moment before looking away and stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Yeah. Whatever.”

His reply caused her train of thought to jump its tracks so abruptly she nearly left her body. Almost as baffling was Akane’s reaction, or rather, her relative lack thereof: her mien showed annoyance, reluctance, and hints of some conflicted undercurrents, but there was no trace of the surprise she'd experienced herself. Somehow, she'd already known he'd accept, which itself brought up even more questions.

Before Ukyou regained enough control of her mouth to ask any, though, Konatsu emerged from the bedroom, wrapped in a crisp black komon striped vertically with winding flower stems and patterned with winter blossoms in pallid pink hues. As usual, the smooth folds betrayed no suggestion of the many weapons hidden on her person. She moved aside the doorway and gave a polite nod. “Ukyou-sama, Akane, the room is all yours. We'll meet you downstairs when you're ready to go.”

Akane stood still for a fraction of a second, then thanked her and slipped into the small space. Ukyou, realizing she probably wasn't going to get any direct answers until after they'd run their errand, sighed and followed suit, closing the door behind her.

No sooner had it clicked shut than Akane began unbuttoning her pajama top, spurring Ukyou to face the closet, turning her back on the other girl before starting on her own. Even though she'd been changing in the girls’ locker room since she'd transferred to Furinkan High, being around other girls in various states of undress was still awkward for her at times. She was saturated with the sense that she would be breaking some unspoken rule if she let her gaze wander too far beyond her locker, even though no one else seemed to be so anxious to abide. She attributed it to the many years she'd spent sectioned off with the boys and changing in nurse’s offices for gym, which had left her uninoculated for this sort of experience, though she knew there was more to it than that.

Thankfully, Akane didn't seem to notice. Instead she spoke up, amusement tickling her tone. “So, are you gonna get all dressed up too?”

Ukyou let out a low chuckle and responded without turning around. “I've got less nice clothes than Ran-chan.” She carefully folded her pajamas before putting them back in their drawer. “How ‘bout you?”

“Well, when I packed, I didn't exactly plan on dressing to the nines to track down an assassin, so no. I was just gonna wear a sweater. Ranma will just have to be happy with two out of four.”

“Two?”

“Yeah, him and Konatsu.”

“Oh! Right, her too,” she said, pulling on a pair of black leggings. “Sorry, I guess I just got so used to her wearing those day in ‘n day out I stopped thinking of it as ‘dressing up’ for her.”

There was a moment's pause before Akane responded. “Every day? Really?”

“Mmhm, just about. Ever since I finally convinced her it's ok to treat herself once in a while it's all she ever buys. Never needs help getting into ‘em either. Between that and how her hair and makeup are always perfect I sometimes wonder if she's not the reincarnation of some hardcore yamato nadeshiko or something.”

Akane hummed with a neutral tone. “That'd be a pretty big oversight if so.”

Suddenly uncomfortable with where the conversation was headed, Ukyou said, “Really though, I think she does it all ‘cause she feels like she has to. Like… there was this one morning where she couldn't find her usual lipstick, and she started panicking so bad I had to run to the shop two blocks down to get her another before she'd calm down.” She shrugged even though they weren't facing each other and absently retrieved the next piece of her outfit. “Don't know if it's something her stepmom drilled into her or if she picked it up somewhere else, but it's like she doesn't think anyone will respect her if she's not perfect all the time.”

The silence she received in response was unexpected, but still preferable enough to the alternative that Ukyou let it hang. It lasted ten long seconds before Akane spoke up again, and Ukyou could tell by the changing way her voice bounced in the tight space that she was turning to face her as she did. “Hey, can I ask you some-”

After silently reminding herself to keep her eyes at eye level, Ukyou turned, only to see a fully dressed Akane giving her an unsettling look. “Uh, yeah?”

Akane’s eyes dipped down for a moment, then met hers again. “You do remember we're still on break, right?”

Confused, she looked down to where Akane’d looked. When she finally consciously registered that she'd been caught in the process of binding her breasts, it clicked. “Aw dammit, not again!”

“Not… again?”

Ukyou huffed, scowling at the tail end of her bindings before letting it drop from her hand. “Yeah, again. Time to time I catch myself doing this on days I don't have school, or even an appointment with a vendor. Half the time I don't realize I didn't have to until noon. Been happening… more’n usual lately.” She turned around again and began undoing her work. “Don't ask why. Just habit bleedin' over, really.”

This time the silence stuck. Ukyou welcomed it, replacing her bindings where they belonged and rifling through her other drawers. Once she'd shrugged on one of her everyday tops, Akane left the room, leaving her to fiddle with her hair bow and giving her the space to think solely about what she could and should expect from their errand. Once she was otherwise ready, she held her bandolier in both hands, idly thumbing the thick leather as she stared through it. She chewed on her bottom lip until it got sore enough for her to notice herself doing it, then slowly placed it back on its peg, closed the closet door and left to join the others.

Outside, the stubborn remnants of the previous night's storm stewed, refusing to disperse but seemingly unable to find the strength to resume the tumult. So instead the swampy grey hung low, hiding more sky than it ceded, ambiguously signaling divergent futures of either sun or snow near-equally and making the quiet city below feel mildly purgatorial.

Ukyou attributed to the tepid gloom the unusual emptiness they'd found in the streets of Nerima, noting to herself that, were she not so tasked, she wouldn't be trodding through the puddles and patches of lingering snow herself. The lack of activity didn't particularly worry her; she tended to do just fine when the weather was dismal and cold. What she might've lost from the dearth of passers-by she made up for by way of those still braving the chill, who were now much more eager to warm their bellies and soothe their skin by the open grill. What did concern her was the humble two-story building the four of them had stopped in front of, for reasons she could only partially congeal into particulars.

Materially, the Nekohanten looked little worse for its owners’ absence. Its pale, unblemished face glowed gently wherever sunlight graced it, the bright red overhang was still crisp, clean and inviting, and the imitation entrées in the display case by the door looked as appetizing as ever. The discord manifested from less tangible aspects: the total absence of sound coming from inside, the stale air trickling through the door, the way the settled noren seemed a static installation instead of low-resistance fabric. Ukyou was getting a sense of the restaurant that almost resembled a long-forgotten shrine more than a successful business whose owners and operators were on temporary leave.

Though she didn't let her demeanor betray that she was starting to get the creeps, she offhandedly asked Ranma, “You _sure_ they're gonna have something useful? Just… lying around?”

“Cologne’s got know-how on just about anything worth knowin’, an’ I'd be at least kinda surprised if she kept it all in her head alone,” he replied, eyeing the restaurant instead of her. “‘Sides, even if there's nothin’ here bout the Naito there's gotta be something else we can use. That phoenix pill I got from her’s the only reason I've still got all my skin after what I pulled in the park.”

Ukyou nodded and, after a quick look around to ensure no one was watching, made to head through the slim alleyway to the left, but Ranma stopped her by grabbing her shoulder. “Whoa, whoa, hold up Ucchan. Lemme scope out the place first. I seriously doubt they'd take a vacation without puttin’ up some nasty traps. The artifacts they got alone have got to be worth protectin’.”

Konatsu perked up. “Oh! I could help with that!”

He grinned. “Yeah, sure. I guess if anyone would know their way ‘round tripwires an’ stuff, it'd be a kunoichi, right?” He took a knee right in front of the door and gestured down the alley. “Check the back an’ I'll take care of the front. Between the two of us we should find ‘em all no problem.”

Konatsu obliged, disappearing to the other side of the Nekohanten, and Ukyou and Akane were treated to five minutes of watching Ranma intently perform ostensibly inane tests upon the building’s front. He began by pressing an ear to the door and tapping softly along the bottom edges of its wooden frame, then repeated the process on the window. The tests that followed were increasingly oblique in purpose, involving more taps, some knocks, and the occasional shoving of snow through crevices. Ukyou soon gave up on trying to follow any of it and focused on watching for passers-by instead. Akane, for her part, seemed content to stare idly at the snow on nearby roofs roofs as it melted, sporadically directing hungry glances toward the fake display meals.

Eventually the sound of the front door opening drew their attentions. Konatsu stood within the threshold, looking down at Ranma, who was crouched over at her feet, apparently having been interrupted while running a leaf under the door. Unaffected, she said, “Okay, all clear!”

The sheepish surprise on Ranma's face was quickly replaced by awe. “Wait, for real? How the hell did ya disarm ‘em all so fast?”

Her head tipped to one side. “Well, there wasn't actually anything _to_ disarm, so…”

He blinked, then furrowed his brow. “That can't be right. I mean I wasn't finding much either, but…” He pursed his lips, then moved past her. “Here, lemme have a go at it. Not sayin’ you didn't do a good job or nothin’, but if you knew the old ghoul like I do… trickiest lil’ mummy this side of Egypt, no way she didn't…” His voice petered off into low mumbling as he began his canvassing.

Leaving him to his own devices, Ukyou and Akane followed Konatsu inside, making sure to close the door behind them. Ukyou found the interior to be even more unsettling than the exterior, which she'd not expected. As a restaurant owner herself, she'd quickly gotten used to being alone amongst empty seats and tables, and she'd half-anticipated a sense of peculiar familiarity to wash away the discomfort, but the Nekohanten felt like something else entirely. Between the dying lightbulb flickering weakly in the corner, the dead flowers in the vases on the tables, and the hints of unpleasant smells coming from the kitchen, it gave off an air of stagnance and, to an extent, genuine decay. It was all she could do not to shiver.

Akane, having no such reservations, stuck out her tongue in a mock-gag. “ _Euch_. This place is making my skin crawl. Let's see what they've got and get gone already.”

Ukyou addressed Konatsu. “Did you find anything useful while you were looking around?”

“Not really, no. Even when I was checking upstairs- there wasn't much of anything in the bedrooms at all.” Her voice carried subtle notes of shame, as though she thought Ukyou would be disappointed in her for it.

Ukyou noticed but continued, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. “Huh. And you didn't see any basement entry or anything like that?” She hummed at Konatsu’s confirming nod. “Maybe Ran-chan was wrong after all.”

“Wow,” Akane said sardonically, “that'd be a first, huh?” She directed a teasing leer his way, but dropped it and sighed when she saw he was too busy meticulously examining the undersides of tables to register her voice.

“Well, might as well give it another once-over before we call it quits,” Ukyou said. “I wanna see what that smell’s about too, ‘cause if it is what I think it is we might have another problem- er, another something on our hands, at least.”

Akane paled. “You don't think they've got anything… _weird_ in the freezer, do you? Like-” she licked her lips, then whispered in a hiss, “- _fingers?_ ”

Konatsu gasped, but Ukyou merely rolled her eyes. “Hon, I don't think that'd even happen in a Suzuki Seijun thriller, nevermind real life.” Before they migrated to the kitchen, though, Ukyou placed a hand on Konatsu’s shoulder and pulled her aside, immediately riveting the suddenly anxious girl's attention to her. “Hey, by the by, thanks for helping out with all this, Ko-chan. You didn't have to be here, but you are, an’ I appreciate it.”

Konatsu beamed, but her expression took on a puzzled tint. “O-oh! Well, it's really not any trouble, but also… I don't think I could have… not?”

Ukyou blinked, her thoughts scrambling to try and unpack what exactly that statement might've meant. Unfortunately, before she could substantially narrow down the possibilities, her body, working on social normalcy autopilot, removed her hand from Konatsu’s shoulder, said, “Alright, let's get to it, y’all,” and walked past them and into the kitchen.

Closer up, the smell was upgradable to a muted stink, decidedly gross but not yet overwhelming. There were no obvious culprits out in the open, nor any particularly suspect details in general. The space’s only inanimate occupants were a mid-size commercial stove, a pair of cooking sinks, metal-framed spice and ingredient racks, a dishwashing basin, and a cold storage unit. The only other features were the service window, an open door leading to an indoor stairwell like the one in her own building, and a vent and a door marked “Employee Bathroom” tucked underneath where the stairs beyond the wall climbed. Ukyou thought the lattermost was a bizarre choice of placement, but wrote it off as a mere architectural shortcut.

She checked the lidded pot that'd been left atop the stove first, finding it full of cold, unfinished broth. It was odd (not to mention wasteful), but inoffensive to the nose. The various drawers, shelves and racks proved similarly fruitless, and the sealed produce containers appeared to be nothing more than absolutely ordinary. Once they'd run out of other places to look, the three of them converged on the cold storage unit. With Konatsu and Akane peering expectantly over her shoulders, Ukyou drew in a deep breath and braced herself for what she was all but certain they were about to find, then pulled open the door.

The stench assaulted them full-force the instant the door's air seal broke, compelling her companions to flee like deer at the sound of a rifle shot. She kept it open just long enough to confirm her expectations, then hastily slammed it shut. A startling cry of disgust sounded from behind her, but when she turned, both girls had their mouths pointedly shut, lest proximity expose their tongues to the taste of bleachy, saline rot directly. When she looked to the doorway to the restaurant's dining area, she found a thoroughly nauseous Ranma pinching his nose with one hand and covering his mouth with the other, barely managing to speak through intermittent dry heaves.

“I knew it! I- _hhurhh_ -knew there was some- _hu-hurrk_ -some kinda trap!”

Thinking quickly, Akane snatched a jar of lemongrass from a spice rack and opened it under his nose. That immediately soothed him, but they still all had to wait for the smell to disperse enough to breathe freely.

Ukyou was the first to speak again. “Wasn't any sort o’ trap, Ran-chan.” At Akane and Konatsu’s widening eyes, she added, “Weren't any fingers, either, ya dorks. What it _was_ was shrimp and chicken that got left on the thawing side too long and went way, way bad.”

“Why would they set it to thaw if they were going to be gone long enough for this to happen?” Akane asked. “Unless…”

“Unless they were in a big rush to leave in the first place,” Ukyou finished. “And I don't know what could get those stubborn bastards spooked enough for that, but I know I don't wanna find out. I just hope they were running _to_ somewhere an’ not _from_ something.”

“Well,” Ranma said, “the day they took off, Shamps swung by for a minute and said they were goin’ back to China for some council dealy, so I think we're good on that. She did hug me, like, for real, though, which was weird.” He stilled. “You don't think they're gonna bring back reinforcements from the village to get me to marry her, do ya?”

She shook her head. “Look, we can cross that bridge when we come to it. We've got enough on our plate as is without worrying about a bunch of hypotheticals.”

“Oh, right.” He scratched his head. “Uh, speakin’ of which, you guys have any luck?”

“The stink was the closest thing we had to a lead,” Ukyou said.

“Sorry,” Konatsu supplied.

“Ah, whatever,” he said casually, “if there ain't nothin’, there ain't nothin’. Maybe they took all the useful stuff with when they left.” Noticing the bathroom door on the far side of the kitchen he added, “Hey, y'all mind if I go before we go?”

“You really should've gone before we left,” Akane admonished. “Anyways, I already tried to get in there, it's locked and there's no keys around.”

Ranma snickered, removing his cap and tossing it carelessly onto a preparation table. “Oh no, a locked door!” He reached into his hair, fingers digging under the strands a couple inches behind his ear, and withdrew a pair of hairpins from concealment. “The thing that always, definitely stops me!”

Akane folded her arms and glowered at him. “Of course you'd know how to pick a lock. Why did I expect any different?”

“‘Cause you never ‘preciate my genius, prolly.” Once he'd bent the pins into the correct shapes, he knelt in front of the door. He stuck the pins in, then stilled, a taken-back expression forming on his features. He pulled them out, repositioned them minutely and tried again, and again, and again. He stood slowly, then turned to face the others directly. “Somethin’s up with this.”

“What, did the big, bad Saotome Ranma finally get stumped by a _locked door?_ ” Akane quipped.

He glared at her. “I didn't get stumped by a lock, ‘cause _that_ ain't a lock to begin with. You couldn't even put a key in it. The keyhole stops, like, a centimeter in. No pins. It's either a fake lock or a real one that got filled in for some reason.”

“Huh,” Ukyou said. “Y’know, I _thought_ something was fishy ‘bout this side of the room. Never seen a bathroom an’ staircase scrunched so close like that.” She knelt down in front of the vent, squinting in an attempt to see past the dark. “This don't make sense either. I can't see how it could possibly connect to the rest of the air system from here.”

“Plus, doesn't it look a little too big to you?” Akane chimed in, crouching next to her. “I doubt you or I could fit in it, but a twelve-year-old could probably crawl through there easily.”

Ukyou’s eyes widened as they met Akane’s. “Or a small animal.”

Akane gasped. “Like a duck!”

“Or a cat.”

“Or a shriveled old bat!” She brought a hand up to her mouth. “Oh, man, Cologne really _is_ sneaky.”

“But… then how are we going to get in?” Konatsu asked.

Slowly, the three of them all turned to stare at Ranma, who simply stared back uncomfortably until realization washed over him, followed by a look of annoyed resignment. “Can't even go one damn day…” Grumbling, he unbuttoned his top and threw it onto the same table as his hat, revealing the form-hugging tank top underneath. He then splashed his face at one of the sinks, adjusted his pants, shoo’ed everyone else aside and set about unscrewing the vent cover with his fingers.

While waiting for him to finish, Ukyou noticed Akane sneaking sidelong glances his way, lingering on his back, around the scoop of his tank top’s neckline. Though they weren't overtly appreciative, it seemed rather obvious what was going through her head. Ukyou was once more surprised; she'd always known Akane to very pointedly _not_ leer whenever Ranma was in cursed form. Whether it meant she'd finally realized Ranma was still Ranma no matter which body he was in or she'd suddenly untangled herself from her (clearly many) inhibitions and insecurities, Ukyou wasn't sure, but she did know all of these little changes happening between them were starting to worry her.

Once the last screw hit the tile, Ranma pulled off the cover, set it aside, rolled his shoulders and took a deep breath. “This is gonna suck,” he griped. Bending his arms in front of him, almost like a diver, he started to wriggle into the vent, letting out a few grunts of discomfort. Such sounds, as well as those of limbs thumping against metal, echoed into the kitchen for maybe half a minute, then ceased as a sigh of relief capped them off. After a few seconds of grabbling there was a click, and the small cracks between the door and the frame filled with light. From directly behind the door came two different clicks, three clangs of metal bars being set aside, and the jiggling of a chain, and then the door swung wide open, revealing Ranma standing at the top of a dimly lit flight of stairs that ran parallel to the stairwell above it and led to, assumedly, a basement.

As they all peered down from the doorway, he said, “I know Nabs ain't here, but, uh, who wants to bet there's at least one dead body down there?” He yelped in mock-pain as Akane punched his arm, then started down the stairs. “I mean it! What do you think happens when a customer tries t’play grab-ass with Shamps? If she don't get ‘em for it, Mousse definitely does.”

The rest of them filed in after him, with Ukyou heading up the rear. She and Konatsu both had to duck under the hanging light fixtures as they descended the cramped space. Ranma and Akane reached the bottom first, opening the door on the side and stepping through. An appreciative whistle preceded her and Konatsu entering, and when she stepped through the door she saw why.

The basement was comparable in size and shape to the kitchen, if less well-lit. The left wall was lined floor-to-ceiling with martial weapons of all sorts, seemingly categorized by type first and size second. The far wall was occupied by four tall metal file cabinets, two of which were missing a drawer. The right wall was almost entirely taken up by a thick vault door with no obvious means of entry. A long wooden table stood in the center, clear of whatever may or may not have lay atop it before. The air was dingy and dusty, but somehow the place managed to be less perturbing than the rest of the building.

“Helluva collection they've got here,” Ranma said, eyeing over the tableau of all things blunt, sharp, pointy, or otherwise harmful. He pulled one of the largest polearms from its hook and admired it, testing its weight. “Man, I haven't seen one of these in years! An’ it's a hefty one too.”

It took a moment for Ukyou to register what specifically it was. “Oh, wait, is that really a guan dao? I thought those were supposed to be too heavy for real combat.”

He scoffed, replacing the weapon on its hook. “Maybe for the average martial artist, but it's really not too much if you've got any actual muscle. Even that thing can't hold a candle to Ryouga’s umbrella. It doesn't even weight that much more than that hunk o’ metal _you_ always swing around, for that matter.”

After checking out a few more weapons, he, Akane and Konatsu moved on to the file cabinets. Ukyou lingered by the polearms for a moment, looking over the guan dao’s huge blade, thick metal pole, and ornate counterweight. The sound of drawers opening soon drew her back to the task at hand, though, and she put the weapon out of her mind for the time being.

The others were already methodically rifling through files when she joined them, each one tackling a different cabinet. Akane, who was handling the third one from the end, opened up the top drawer of the yet-unmanned fourth one for her without looking up. “Here, we'll all be done faster like this. There's files on all sorts of things here, so as much as I hate to say Ranma was right, there could actually be something about the Naito here.”

Wordlessly accepting her assignment, she began her share of the search. It was a little confusing at first, but she soon got the hang of it. Each file contained at least one set of pages of neatly handwritten Mandarin, and many contained additional copies in other languages; primarily Japanese, although she also found a handful of others she vaguely recognized if not understood, including Portuguese, English, and even Sanskrit.

Though she didn't waste any time reading files once she sussed out their irrelevance, she got the gist of what information they contained: each one named a person or group, gave a succinct description thereof, then, on a scale that never seemed to go lower than 1 or higher than 5, rated them in terms of “Potential,” “Familiarity,” and “Threat Level.” The further she got into the drawers, the more she wondered why a small isolationist village in the mountains of China, intimidating though they could be, would want to catalog so much unconnected data, but as time passed the repetitive work numbed her brain enough to drive such extraneous thoughts away for now.

She was nearly done skimming the contents of the third drawer down and about to put the file in her hand back in its place when her thoughts caught up with her eyes and she registered the significance of what it said. “Whoa, hey, hey! Jackpot, y'all!” The others, as intrigued as they were eager for reprieve, put the files they were holding away and joined her at the table's edge, where she laid out the pages in a spread. Separating the Japanese copy from the Mandarin one, Akane read it aloud.

 

“ _Naito Clan_

_Assassins. Reclusive remnants of a 15th century shinobi line. Users and sole masters of a specialized hybrid style. Own and revere a well-preserved piece of parchment from an ancient traveler's notes. See themselves as arbiters of retributory justice as well as protectors of ‘the uncorrupted’. Accept no monetary payment. Can only be hired by those willing to sacrifice to prove the righteousness of their cause. Said sacrifice involves cutting off one's own finger with a ceremonial knife. Finger is then used to write the target's name or names where they will find it. Hearsay suggests this is done to inform targets that their guilt has not gone unnoticed and/or that they've brought their fate on themselves._

_Potential: 4_

_Familiarity: 2_

_Threat Level: 2_ ”

 

There was a stretch of quiet when Akane finished reading until Ranma, trying to hide the strain in his voice, said, “Cool. Great. Yeah, okay, perfect. So, Pops pissed someone off, like always, ‘cept this time it was so bad they sliced and diced their own hand to have him killed. An’ then, like always, they blame me too, like I shoulda stopped him somehow. They even come after me before gettin’ to him. Like. Always.” He bit out the last two words with such an icy tone that Ukyou nearly flinched, then he chuckled ruefully. “They musta thought I was already ‘corrupted’ by bein’ his kid. Guess I can't blame ‘em for that, everyone else seems to think so too.” He started gathering up the papers. “Whatever. There's nothing ‘bout where they live or what techniques they got, and I don't think we're gettin’ into that vault without making this place collapse, so let's just get outta here. Sorry for wastin’ everyone's time.”

As he was shuffling the pages, though, one fell out, evidently having been hidden beneath the rest. Ukyou caught it before it could flutter to the ground, moved to hand it back to Ranma, then stopped as she realized there was more Japanese text on part of it, sandwiched between what was assumedly a Mandarin version and another written in a language she didn't recognize at all. “Wait, guys, there's more. It looks like… Oh, I think this is the traveler's note the file mentioned.” The text’s format was odd, but she did her best to interpret it in spoken format for the others.

 

“ _The world shed today_

 

_Dawn spared no warning_

_First the sky was lazy and the water was calm_

_My boat traced the skin of foreign soil_

_I saw no others_

_I saw insects_

_I saw a new fish_

_I caught one and recorded it_

_I ate it with the kasoori methi from my friend on the mountain_

_The clouds let enough sun through for me to bask_

_I allowed myself a moment's peace_

_I napped_

 

_I woke to a world of terrors_

_The sky was flooded grey and thoughtless with hail_

_The sea bubbled and boiled and stung me with its spray_

_My boat and I were flung ashore like long-dead refuse picked clean_

_Her splinters scratched the shore and my skin_

_I fled inland from the scalding steam_

_Only the trees sheltered me from the hail_

_I shook_

_I prayed_

_I forgot any sense of time_

_I held myself close together and waited for the ground to swallow me_

 

_Salvation came in a most incredible and awful form_

_Its arrival punctured the clouds_

_It streaked a true path toward land_

_Toward the east_

_Toward me_

_It flew faster than I knew anything could_

_Yet as it passed over my head I saw it clear_

_An enormous hawk of white and gold feathers stained dark with blood_

_A being whose reach stretched further than heavens and depths_

_One from the life beyond life cast out_

_It continued past where I could see_

_Then the land shook_

_A great wave of something I had only felt once before swept over me_

_And I knew it was dead_

 

_It took hours for the clouds to scatter_

_Longer still for the sea to cool_

_But only now that I relive the event here_

_Sleepless_

_Does understanding come_

_It is a lesson I have failed to learn before_

 

_No life is sacred when weeds choke the blossoms_

_I will not hesitate again”_

 

Ranma sighed. “So they're strong, they're crazy, they're out for my head _and_ they're all way into some myth about the world almost ending. Good to know. Let's get back already so I can at least get in a couple hours of sparring before dinner.” With that, he rounded the table and climbed the stairs back to the restaurant proper.

Akane groaned and said, “You'd think after being so insistent that he'd be fine if there _wasn't_ anything, he'd at least be happy that there _was_ something,” before following him up.

Ukyou made to put the errant page back with the rest, but Konatsu put a hand on her arm. “Um, actually Ukyou-sama, would it be alright if I held onto that?” At Ukyou’s questioning quirk of a brow, she said, “I-I don't know how to explain it, but… part of me keeps yelling at me like I'm missing something important. I'm really not sure if it's the story, or some of the words, or the other translations, or all of it, or none of it and I'm just overthinking it, or-”

Ukyou interrupted her by handing her the page. “Yeah, go nuts. We can worry about Cologne figuring out it's gone when they come back.”

Konatsu nodded gratefully, creasing it meticulously and slipping it into her komon’s folds. “Thank you Ukyou-sama. I won't let you down.” She turned to leave as well.

On an impulse, just as she stepped onto the threshold of the stairwell, Ukyou called out, “Hold up a sec, Ko-chan.” She stopped immediately, looking back to her expectantly. Ukyou asked, “What was it you meant, earlier? When you said you couldn't’ve not helped?”

She tilted her head forward a little, meeting Ukyou’s eyes only briefly. “Oh, I just meant… well, Ranma helped me get away from home, and I never really repayed that, so I thought this would be a start. And then, you wanted to do this for him too, so even if I didn't owe him…” She smiled softly. “Well, I wouldn't be very useful if I didn't even help you with the important things, would I?”

Ukyou took a second to gather her thoughts, then said, carefully, “Look, sug, don't think I'm saying this because I don't appreciate the sentiment or anything, ‘cause I do, but... you're not obligated to do everything for me, alright? If you wanna return the favor for Ran-chan go ahead, but you don't gotta keep worrying ‘bout being useful to me. It ain't about that, you're not- you're not something to be _used_ \- you're your own person!” She sighed, tramping down the frustration that'd begun to swell within her. “No one should have more say in what you do than you. Me included.”

Konatsu’s expression faltered for a few seconds, betraying hints of confusion, panic, conflictedness, and shame, but she still managed to nod silently before disappearing up the stairs, leaving Ukyou alone to berate herself for probably mishandling another important conversation as she returned the file, sans the last page, to its proper drawer.

When she made to leave, she skirted the table on the side by the weapon racks, but found herself stopping just before where the guan dao was hung, eyes tracing its russet-tinted length and uniquely-shaped silver blade. She reached out to it unconsciously, then pulled her hand away, then, compelled by a pang in her gut, strengthened her resolve and pulled it off its hook. It was indeed heavier than her usual fare, but, holding it in her hands now, feeling its weight for herself, that suddenly felt less like a reason to dismiss it and more like an obstacle worth overcoming.

Once she'd climbed the stairs, turned off the light, closed the door and rejoined the others, the basement was left exactly the way they'd found it, save for some displaced dust, one piece of paper, and a single empty hook amongst fifty occupied ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again about the wait! 2018 has been completely upending my life and I haven't been able to find much time between reconstructing and recovering to write, but I swear the next chapters won't take three months!


End file.
